Oubliette
by Albion19
Summary: A terrible plot is brewing in Amata to rid the world of magic but it is a horrible discovery at the bottom of a cell that put Merlin's ethics and destiny into question. Merlin/Morgana.
1. Chapter 1

Amata is a dry, dusty region of the world and uncomfortably hot during the summer. The only respite is the breeze blowing off the sea to the east. Merlin pushes a hood off his head, hand shielding his eyes from the sun. In the distance, the small city of Amata appears hazily in the sunlight. Square white buildings cluster at the foot of a grand castle and Merlin is impressed despite himself. Amata by reports was a hostile and unfriendly place but appearances can be deceptive, even the most beautiful of things can harbour evil.

Not for the first time he wonders why he accepted the Great Dragon's mission to a place that views and treats those with magic even worse than Camelot but the peril of Kilgharrah's prophecy makes him walk fixedly along the sandy path and the panic that the beast could not conceal rings his mind constantly.

Somewhere in this city a terrible plot is brewing that promises to finish what the Purge started.

* * *

He had expected to find grim and gruesome sights, those with magic hung or worse along the city walls but the bustling town that surrounds the fortress reminds him of Camelot. Just as there, those with magic know not to approach.

Adjusting his pack, he threads his way through crowds as stall owners loudly haggle their wares and customers flourish money in the air. If he is lucky he will only have to spend a night but his search may prove longer so he spends time walking along narrow streets and stopping by quaint squares, mapping the place in his mind. His presence in Camelot will not be missed; after nine years of faithful service he had requested a holiday. Would he have left if the dragon hadn't made it clear how dire the situation in Amata was? He is not sure. At this point in his life he can't see his purpose anywhere but at Arthur's and Gwen's side. They are his destiny.

As the sun begins to set Merlin follows a throng of lavishly dressed people into the palace, noting the sound of merry music and the scent of roast meat and baked bread coming from within. A celebration of some sort is taking place and Merlin smiles openly. A distraction is just the thing he needs and so follows them in. He will find a moment when they are focused on food, drink and talking to pay attention to him and slip away to search.

White stone walls keep the castle cool and the marble under foot is embellished with highly detailed images and he cranes his head to follow what appears to be a story but only ends up bumping into an old man in front of him, who smiles. Amata is not what he expected, from all reports the ruler Sarrum is a cruel warlord who makes Uther look positively magnanimous.

But he knows you cannot judge a people by their ruler. This beautiful fortress was taken after a siege many years ago, just as Camelot once was. As the crowd before Merlin clears he sees a grand hall, with beautiful tapestries and burning torches on every wall and huge windows show a spectacular view of the sea in the distance. Around the walls people take their seats, plates and fine crystal goblets twinkling in the candle light. At the head of the room sits Sarrum and his courtiers.

Merlin comes to a slow stop and the people around him fade away as he focuses on a map of Albion painted behind Sarrum. It is massive, taking up the entire wall and it is the most detailed that Merlin has ever seen. But it is not this that makes him blink and shake his head. Lights are dotted around the map, in some places just a speck while in others clusters pulse faintly. Even at this distance Merlin can feel the magic sustaining it.

"Impressive, isn't it?" a quiet voice says beside him and Merlin looks down at a tiny woman wearing a white wimple. A chain hangs around her neck and her hands are clasped together as if in benediction.

"What – what is it? The lights, I mean. I'm new to the city," he adds as she frowns a little. She smiles, nodding.

"The map is enchanted to show every single person in Albion with magic," she explains in the same calm tone, lifting her hand up to point. Merlin inhales sharply and holds it, the hair rising over his body. He starts to feverishly search through the map, trying to locate where he now stands and sure enough, a light burns in his position. He curls his hand into a fist, straightening his back when he notices that another light is right next to him. His eyes flick to the nun who smiles up at him politely and her eyes pulse gold for just a second.

"You…?" All the air escapes his mouth and she smiles brightly.

"And you," she responds and looks back at the map. "I was once a follower of the old religion but I have renounced that life. I know use my condition to pave a new future. See," she says, inclining her head and Merlin drags his eyes back to the map. His very blood is roaring in his ears and it takes him awhile to focus but when he does his heart skips a beat.

"The lights are fading…" as he watches a cluster in a heavily forested area in the north starts to wink out. "Druids?"

"Very likely. Don't be afraid," she says, patting his arm. "You do not have to carry this burden any longer, soon everyone cursed with this affliction will be cured," she says with a quiet passion and leaves Merlin to stand in a stunned silence, staring at the map.

The flickering light, one that burns far brighter than others, begins to blur in his vision until he has to look away. Fear, the likes of which he has not felt in years, beats around his chest like a crazed bird. He must leave, he cannot afford discovery. The nun, whatever she truly is, seems benevolent and yet she wants to eradicate those with magic, even as she holds the power herself. Mind whirling with confusion he starts to turn away, eyes down turned when Sarrum stands and the hall falls silent.

"To my esteemed guests and neighbours I give thanks and a warm welcome. We are here because each of us shares a common desire and purpose: to rid the world of magic and the danger it poses to all of us. In the past those with magic were killed in swathes but in most cases, they are unwitting victims. They are our neighbours, our teachers, our farmers. Our children," here he pauses, eyes oddly blank before he smiles. "I am here to tell you that we are their salvation. Those who genuinely want to seek freedom from their affliction can find that here while those that oppose us…well," he smiles sharply and Merlin feels a shudder go up his back. "You will see what happens to them."

He motions to the side of the hall and two guards enter followed by a woman in rags, bent over with age. She shuffles along, clothes and hair wet as if she had just been doused with water. Her hair obscures her face and almost touches the floor. A chain carried by one of the guards tugs her forward when she slows. Merlin looks up at the map and sees a very weak light and gazes back down at the woman.

"This witch thought to kill me and take this seat," he motions back at the throne. "But she found that I am no Pendragon," he smiles thinly as chuckles fill the hall. "I captured her and she has been my guest for over a year now."

He moves to stand before the witch and Merlin wants to turn away, to ignore the disgust pooling in his stomach but he cannot. All anyone has to do is look up at the map and his presence will be declared but he cannot make himself move.

"You must be asking why I have not killed her and the answer is simple: it is what she wants and I will not give her the satisfaction. Instead I have smothered her magic, broken her," he says with an odd tenderness and then grabs the back of the woman's head and pulls back. Merlin stops breathing and his legs go weak as he finally sees who it is.

Morgana.

"See how powerless she is before me. Remember this face, remember the witch Morgana and the fate that will befall all those with magic who defy me."

Morgana Pendragon had once been beautiful but now those flashing blue eyes and sharp smile are gone. Sunken eyes peer out of a thin, gaunt face, eyes that can't seem to focus and squint in the candlelight as if she is staring at the sun. The hand that grips weakly at Sarrum's wrist is thin and the rags she wears swallow her. He has not seen Morgana for years, and a part of him had hoped that she had somehow found peace or for Camelot's sake been brought to justice but he never envisioned this. The effect of seeing her is electric and it is a torment to stare at her so damaged.

"Take her away. Forget her for another year," Sarrum declares and the guards tug the dazed and sick looking Morgana away. Merlin stares between her retreating back and the map, his heart pounding. He could go back, tell Arthur what he has witnessed, while trying to think of an excuse for being here in the first place. Yet Arthur coming to Amata could reveal Merlin's greatest secret…as the door slams shut and Morgana disappears Merlin jumps and feels a terrible twisting in the pit of his stomach. He is now the only light in the room.

He has to leave. He cannot help her, not after all her attempts to end Arthur's life and usurp his rule. Through her actions Morgana has brought this on herself and the time for change has long passed. He lifts his chin and adjusts his pack before turning from the hall and out into the night. With every step his throat tightens and his eyes prickle with tears but he carries on. When he reaches the wall surrounding the city he is almost running.

Coward…

The voice, so like Morgana's, whispers into his mind and he stops, panting for breath. He cannot banish the image of her face from his mind, cannot reconcile it with her usual arrogant smirk, or the young sweet smile that haunts him. He cannot stay here, not without backup…but he cannot walk away and leave her to this fate, no matter their history.

Closing his eyes and praying to anyone that will listen he drops his bag and makes for the castle again.

* * *

Moonlight shines against cobblestones where the guards stand, their shadows cast against a white wall. They laugh quietly and share a drink. Merlin looks for a way to the dungeons, thinking of a spell to knock out the guards when the most pitiful sound he has ever heard reaches his ears.

Somewhere someone is crying, a muffled sound that seems to echo strangely and filled with so much agony he can feel tears collecting in his eyes again. One of the guards curses softly and bends down to pick up a rock. With a yell to shut up he flings it into the dark where the moonlight does not reach. Rock thuds hollowly against wood.

Frowning Merlin sticks to the shadows and moves in that direction, watchful of the guards. His foot connects with the rock and he bends down to pick it up and feels rough groves of wood under his fingers. He looks up and sees some sort of pulley machine standing against the wall. As the inklings of understanding begin to grow, another sob reaches him from directly below.

"If you do not shut that beast up I will winch you up for some fun witch," a guard says, moving forward and Merlin stands. The guard blinks in shock, as the other stirs into action, but Merlin lifts his hands and with a pulse of magic he slams the guards back against the wall where they land in a heap and do not move.

Giving them a once over he stands back and looks down. A round wooden door is fixed into the ground and he can imagine many people stepping over it, not knowing what it is. Feeling breathless, he whispers a spell and the door to the cell slides up and out of the way. He stops breathing entirely as his hands grip the edge of the hole convulsively. A four foot wide shaft plummets down forty feet and huddled in the dark is Morgana, her arms chained to the wall of her cell. It is an oubliette; where prisoners are forgotten and left to rot, a terrible imprisonment. Unbidden the well in the courtyard of Camelot comes to Merlin's mind and he feels sick. Has Morgana truly been stuck in such a dreadful place for over a year? He cannot bear to think it but he knows it is true. As moonlight starts to fall into the hole a white thing Merlin took to be blankets lifts its head and looks up at him.

"Oh…no," Merlin doubles over, feeling as if he has been punched in the gut. The white dragon, the dragon that he had called forth, curls around Morgana protectively. The baby dragon had gone missing after hatching but Kilgarrah had told him not to worry, she could fend for herself. How wrong he was. Aithusa is the source of the weeping, the young dragon's fear so raw that he can almost sense it. Seeing him she issues a crooning noise and Morgana lowers a hand and pats the dragon's head.

"It's okay…" she says weakly and then looks up as a shadow falls over them. Merlin, using the pulley, steadily lowers himself down and then stops above them. He lifts out his hand as Morgana blinks, shielding her eyes against the moonlight.

"It's me, it's Merlin," he says when she shakes her head in confusion. He knows at any other time she would have already flung a curse at him but she just sits there staring up at him. Finally, she looks down at Aithusa.

"This is a strange dream…"

"If only," Merlin says hastily and looking up he focuses on the chains keeping her bound. She appears so dazed and disorientated that when the chains clatter around her she just blinks a little. Metal cuffs still around her wrists but now free Merlin inhales and then grabs Morgana, hooking his arms under hers and then awkwardly around her waist, grimacing at how thin she feels, like she is no more than rag and bone. She is so weak that he has to push her against him to keep her up right. Staring up as the full moon appears Merlin whispers a spell and they begin to rise.

Aithusa stands or tries to. The cell too small for her growing bulk she cranes her head up and opens her mouth to roar. Merlin flashes his eyes at her with a growl and then feels his heartbreak as she shrinks back down and hides her head under a wing. As they near the top Morgana stirs, inhaling sharply.

"No…Aithusa!" she reaches down, her pale white hand grasping at the air and if he did not have his arms around her she would have fallen.

"I'm sorry, it's you or her."

Morgana stares at the dragon and tears roll down her cheeks and fall into the darkness below.

* * *

The desire to find a hidden, safe place makes him leave his pack and drag Morgana through the city, whispering spells to keep them concealed. She is half-conscious by the time they reach the path leading out of the city so he bends down and picks her up in his arms. She is so light that he makes better time carrying her like this and as the sky begins to lighten he finds a deserted barn.

"Sleep," he whispers as he lowers her down in a pile of old hay. Her red rimmed eyes flicker open and then close repeatedly, as if she's trying to stay awake but within moments she sinks into an exhausted sleep. On his knees Merlin stares down at her, unable to look away. He catalogues every difference he sees, like a physician would. She is smaller than before, thin and starved. He begins to swallow convulsively as his throat tightens and but he still cannot look away. She is pale but then she had always been but this is different. She is almost translucent and he can guess she has not seen the sun in a very long time.

He blinks when he realises he has his hand against her forehead and removes it, leaning back. Physicians look after patients, they note changes but they do not sit there ticking off everything they see and blaming themselves for it. He views Morgana as a threat, as something that he has no control over and as such she is incredibly dangerous. She chose to turn against them but when the nights are long and he cannot sleep he wonders did he push her down this path with one simple denial?

Is this his fault?


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning he wakes tired and sore, having spent the previous night jumping at odd noises and flickering shadows, half expecting Sarrum himself to come bursting through the door. Mostly he stared across the small dark space that separated them as Morgana slept fretfully. As dawn approached, she finally sunk into a deep sleep.

They need food and water and he has to retrieve his bag from where he dropped it the night before. He covers his head with his blue scarf and gazes down at Morgana. Even if she wakes, she is too weak to stand on her own let alone walk out and disappear. He opens the barn door and freezes as sunshine pours in, casting a strong silhouette behind him.

_The map on the wall…_

They must have realised she is missing by now, will they come looking or leave her? He knows the answer to that. Sarrum could have killed her months ago but instead left her to rot barely alive at the bottom of a hole. He will come and he will use the map to find her. Morgana's light on the map was weak, a faint beacon that could help her blend in with the other weak lights…but not with his right next to her. He imagines how it looks, a sun next to a candle flame.

_I could leave. I am only drawing more attention to her and myself. She would have a better chance alone…_

Even as he thinks it his stomach rolls over, not because he feels especially shamed but because the pull to go and avoid discovery is incredibly enticing. He has been doing so all his life and it is a hard habit to break. He has saved her, hidden her and he knows she can look after herself once she is stronger.

_However, that dragon cannot…_

Merlin clenches his fists and steps out into the light, closing the door to the barn sharply behind him. The image of the crippled white dragon, its cramped body spiralling around the wall of the cell like a plant, flashes through his mind and he grimaces. Aithusa, for reasons he cannot guess, is in league with Morgana and that does not bode well. He has no idea what the dragon is like, only the joyful memory of her birth and now this pitiful reunion.

Whatever the nature of Aithusa he knows that she is alive because the closer he gets to the city the louder her silent cries ring his mind.

* * *

Guards scout the city, stopping women in the street and throwing back their hoods and shawls before pushing them away in dismissal. Merlin stays in the shadows, keeping still as they pass. They do not spare him a glance and he goes about his business quickly. Pack now full of provisions and his errand without mishap Merlin makes his way back to the barn as the sun climbs high and the back of his neck starts to sweat. The barn stands in an empty field but at the back is an old orange orchid cut in half by a narrow stream, which runs down to the sea. If he stands on the barn roof, he would be able to see the calm deep blue of the ocean, different from the cold sea of Meredor, the only other ocean he has seen.

As he touches the door to the barn he pauses, looking down. A shadow filters through the planks of wood to his right and he slowly lowers his pack. Someone is standing beside the door. He pushes it open and immediately ducks to the left as something whooshes over his head and thuds to the floor. He straightens and finds Morgana leaning against the wall, panting for breath, and as he takes a step towards her she stumbles back and crumples to the floor.

"…Merlin?" she croaks, staring up at him through the straggly length of her hair. He nods, coming no closer. She gives a weak smirk and looks aside. "I thought I imagined you…maybe I still am?" she asks suspiciously and looks back up at him. Merlin presses his lips together and shakes his head.

"No, I'm real. Morgana…" he does not know what to say but does not feel comfortable staring down at her. He slowly gets on his knees so he can see her face but keeps his distance. "We thought you were dead."

She smiles weakly again, like her old smirk, but the flash of her eyes up to meet his are full of so much pain he feels his throat tighten. "You all must wish I was…"

He shakes his head slowly but cannot think of what to say. Once he held her in his arms as she lay dying by his own hand. Sometimes, especially when standing in the great hall, he can feel the shaking her body and then the horrible stillness that followed it. He cannot say he would never wish her dead, because it is a lie.

Beams of light shine through the barn wall and she blinks and squints, watching dust particles floating through the air with unguarded wonder for a moment before she suddenly straightens with a stricken expression. The disorientation she experienced before has not left her and he wonders if it ever will.

"Aithusa! I have to free her!" she struggles to her feet and Merlin follows her up, shaking his head before he can stop himself.

"They must realise you're free by now. The cell will be watched, the number of guards doubled."

"I can't just leave her there!" she says through her teeth with her old fire but she begins to sway on her feet and he reaches out to steady her. She flinches away from his touch and leans against a cool stone wall. Morgana stares at him peripherally, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What do you care?"

"I let you out didn't I?"

"So you can take me back to Camelot? To another cell and then a rope?" she sneers this but real dread shines in her eyes. That is what she thinks and fears, the reason he has saved her. The woman he knew was brave and arrogant but the woman before him has been peeled raw and she cannot hide her fear. The right thing to do would be to take her back so she can answer for her crimes but the thought of forcing her through more punishment makes him feel nauseated.

"I think you've suffered enough," he answers quietly after a long silence and turns away from her to retrieve his pack. He does not trust Morgana, he likely never will but he is not cruel. He offers her a few oranges and a flask of water but she does not take it so he leaves them by her feet before moving away, giving her space.

Maybe she is starved for company, needing to see another face and talk, even if that face is his. Like a wary cat, she moves closer until she sits opposite him, back against a beam. His eyes flick to her, unable to look away as she struggles to peel an orange until he leans forward and takes it from her weak grasp.

"I haven't had one of those in…well, a long time," she says and if she feels any sense of shame at needing help, she does not show it. He supposes there must come a point where you are too far gone to let it bother you. He passes it back to her and she nibbles on a slice and gasps.

"They're a bit under-ripe," he says as her face scrunches up at the bitterness but she carries on eating, her delight plain to see. There is something oddly childlike about her now and he feels something in him soften, until she snaps her eyes to his as she licks her fingers.

"Why did you help me? After what I did to you, don't you think I deserve it?"

"No! I wouldn't leave anyone to that fate. If you found me down there would you?" he asks suddenly, wishing he had not but the harsh answer he expects does not come.

"I would rescue Uther himself if he had to endure what I have," she drops the orange peel and looks at the wall, where the castle is. "I have to save her, I must but…" she stares down at her hands, which sit limply in her lap and Merlin stares at them.

"Your magic is gone."

"No," she corrects, shaking her head. "It's been subdued. It's still there, I can feel it weakly but when I try to draw on it it's just out of reach," she lifts her hand, fingertips just skimming a warm sunbeam before she lowers her hand. Merlin feels a shudder go up his back. Magic is part of him as surely as the blood that flows through his veins. He would be as good as dead without it but sensing it and not being able to use it would be torture.

"How have they done this?"

"There's a very rare plant, a weed. Centuries ago, the priestesses made sure to destroy it wherever it grew but some has been cultivated. They put it in the water, in the food…" she trails off, clearing her throat. Her voice is hoarse with disuse.

"What?!" Merlin inhales, almost choking on a piece of orange. He tries to keep his face impassive but she tilts her head.

"It only effects those with magic. The populous consumes a very mild form of it, so that over time any magic is weakened. Children born to this generation will not even know they have magic, will not feel the loss of it…" she stares glumly down at the empty orange peel as Merlin's mind whirls.

"The people just go along with it?"

"Are you surprised?" she asks, leaning her head back against the beam. He knows that during the Purge neighbour turned on neighbour, families were torn apart through fear and suspicion. People could be swayed without much persuasion under the right conditions.

"They think it's for their own good."

"Exactly. They do not know any better because all they have heard are nightmares…" she sighs, closing her eyes and they spend the next hour in silence, Merlin trying and failing to sleep.

* * *

They cannot stay in the barn for another night, by morning they will widen their search to the outer lying areas. As night falls, Merlin shoulders his pack and gazes at Morgana as she stares out of the open barn door. The world beyond must be so big to her now, he thinks. She is wearing a hooded grey cloak he found in the barn, tattered and too long but it covers her.

"I don't remember coming here. I don't even remember getting out of the cell."

"You were half delirious…" he answers vaguely. "The guards were drunk, half asleep when I found you…" he makes his voice level, hoping he sounds convincing and she does not question it.

"If the guards are searching for me then the way to Aithusa may be clear," she straightens, wiggling her shoulders with a grimace. He wonders how much pain she is in and how much of it she is hiding from him.

"You care about her, don't you?"

"She…she's my friend," she answers simply, not looking at him. "I owe her my life and more. In - in that place she healed me over and over..." her gaze becomes lost and wounded before she shakes her head. "I must act soon; the guards will only search for me for so long."

"Even if that's the case how will you get a dragon out of a cell like that? She's chained to the wall. Can she fly?"

Her mouth pursers but continues to stare at the city. "No, she was never given the chance…I tried to free her before, when she was smaller and my magic was stronger…" That she failed goes without saying.

"Well your magic is limited now so it will be much harder," he says, a little too bluntly and she glances at him.

"Thank you for pointing that out Merlin," she answers sarcastically and he is powerfully reminded of Arthur. He knows the king would offer her clemency if he knew what has befallen her. For all his bravado, he feels her betrayal deeply but even under that his love for his sister is strong.

"Head into the city, they will not think you'll be there. We'll head to an inn…"

"And then what? You do not have to be here Merlin. I don't understand why you want to help me," she does not say it harshly, only with a mild confusion.

"I said I won't leave anyone down there, no matter who or what they are. You can't do it by yourself so I'll help you rescue Aithusa; we'll find a way to free her."

She narrows her eyes at him, saying nothing until she nods. "You were always…accepting of those with magic," she utters softly and walks out of the barn, leaving Merlin to stare after her until she stumbles and he hurries to catch up. He touches her elbow as they walk and she does not push him away.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_sorry for the wait, I would have updated over the weekend but had no internet access. _

_Thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed, it means a lot :)_


	3. Chapter 3

During the day when the sun shines out of a peerless blue sky the habitants go about their business leisurely and the streets are quiet, still and hot. The city awakens at night as floods of people fill the narrow lanes, sit and eat in colourful tiled squares, each with a fountain pride of place. In this nocturnal city, different and beautiful, the dwellers do not pay two hooded figures any notice. Amata is a port town and many strangers pass through its streets.

Merlin rings his hand around the strap of his pack, eyes darting from one face to the next feverishly. Everywhere he looks he expects to see the domed helmet of a guard or worse but he and Morgana have passed through the town without interruption. Morgana walks by his side, well pressed to his side is more accurate. She seems overwhelmed with the sights around her, especially the noise, and as the deep booming of numerous drums comes towards them her hand closes into a fist around the front of his cloak.

"It's so loud," she whispers against his shoulder and he nods in understanding. At the bottom of a hole all she heard was the muffled sound of crying and the hollow resonance of the distant sea. Merlin wraps his hand around her wrist as they head into a stream of people and Morgana ducks her head. The hood is deep and only shadows are visible over her face but as the crowd buffets them her hood falls back and she rips her hand out of his to pull it back up. In an instant she is pulled away and swallowed in the current of passing people, too weak to resist.

"Damn it!" Merlin swears and weaves his way to the edge of the crowd and forces his way out. The throng of people, clearly festival goers, bustle up the street towards a large square where some sort of event is starting. Amongst the sound of drunken laughter he hears a strident yell and then a dark figure emerges from the crowd and falls to the floor. On her knees Morgana glares at the crowd, panting for breath and the look in her eyes makes him pause. She looks murderous, her mouth curled up into a snarl, but as the crowd finally disperses her head lowers and she looks at her hands miserably. Taking a breath Merlin gets on his knees beside her and lays a hesitating hand on her shoulder.

"It's pathetic. I can't even draw on the smallest surge of magic to help myself. Like a leaf carried by a river," she says humorously and squeezes her hands into fists until her knuckles go white. Merlin can understand her frustration and anger; he lives with it constantly, just in a different way.

"Come on, before someone sees us," he stands and thinks about offering her a hand up but decides not to. She struggles to her feet and, shaking back her wild mane of hair, throws her hood back up. A small, satisfied smile plays over her lips. It's a start.

* * *

An orange tree grows up the side of the ivy covered inn, large and very old and he can imagine how beautiful it must look during the spring as blossom fills the air. It's the only sign of merit the inn can boast, which sits huddled in a tiny courtyard, sharing the space with a run-down stables. It's certainly not as lavish as others but it will do for their purpose and the limited coin in his pocket.

Morgana looks at her reflection in a dark window and he hears her inhale quietly and reach for her hair. She probably hasn't seen her reflection for some time and he feels a strange stab of pity as she tries to smooth down her wild hair to appear more presentable. It's so matted that a comb would likely snap trying to brush through it.

"Honestly it's best if you keep your hood up," he says and she glares at him and his face heats. "I mean to avoid recognition."

"My own mother wouldn't recognise me," she utters but pulls the hood back up with a tired sigh. They had been walking for awhile and her strength is failing. Here she can recuperate as best she can. Merlin clears his throat and motions for her to enter first. She lifts her chin and walks through the open door into a small but clean foyer, pretty glass lanterns hanging from the walls. A bald man sits behind a counter reading a scroll and seeing he has guests, bows.

"Welcome! Please come in, come in."

"We're looking for rooms," Merlin starts and the man's face falls.

"I'm afraid only one is available. Because of the celebrations that are happening this week, every inn in the city is crammed to the rafters!" he laughs and his eyes flick between Merlin and Morgana as she leans against his side, too tired to stand up right. He places his hand at her back.

"Please, you must have something?" Morgana whispers hoarsely and the manager blinks. Does he see in the half shadows how pale she is, how sick? Does he fear infection? Merlin smiles, pulling her closer to him.

"She's very tired, we – we've come a long way."

"All of us," she adds softly and gently places a hand against her stomach. At once the innkeeper's face breaks into a beaming smile and he claps his hands together.

"How wonderful! A baby! Of course we have a room! I had promised to save it for another couple but I've been waiting hours! Please, this way, follow me," he grins, so happy that Merlin can feel the joy radiating off him. He stares at Morgana, catches the corner of a smirk in the depth of her hood, and tries to keep his face as innocent as possible.

"Yeah, a baby. It – it was quite a shock, wasn't it?" he says weakly as they are shown to a room at the top of the building, which boasts a balcony and a view of the sea over the rooftops, if you stand on your tiptoes. Now the view is dark, showing a ribbon of sky clustered with stars.

Morgana yawns, hand to her mouth and nods. As the innkeeper lights a few gas lamps she shies away from the light and sits on the edge of the bed. The only bed. The innkeeper, called Isadore, bids them goodnight and sees himself out after Merlin offers him a discreet coin. Now left alone Merlin stares down at Morgana, who stares out of the window as if he is not there.

"So…"

"It's too soft," she utters suddenly and Merlin's eyebrows rise. She punches the mattress weakly, testing it and then looks at Merlin as if he can do something about it.

"I – I suppose you'll have to get used to it, again," he inclines his head and turns away to search through his pack for a blanket. There is a couch by the wall, opposite the bed and Merlin takes a seat, forcing himself to look at her. She lies curled up in the centre of the bed, her cloak in a heap on the floor. Despite her protest, she is fast asleep. He stares at her for a long time before he realises what he is doing and stands.

Merlin closes the windows that open onto the small balcony and blows out the gas lamp. He lies on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as the sound of merriment surges faintly over the rooftops. He finally falls asleep, exhausted. He dreams of a hovel in the woods, of aching pain shooting through his chained up arms and the golden glow of her eyes in the dark…He dreams of the heat of her healing seeping into his muscles and bones, like liquid gold and the pulse of ecstasy flowing through him.

* * *

"NO!" the scream shatters the silence and Merlin bolts up right, almost falling to the floor. Morgana is sitting up in bed, her eyes huge and spooked. Her ragged breathing fills the room and Merlin cringes when she garbs at her throat.

"What – what's wrong?" he asks quietly, coming the edge of the bed. She shakes her head repeatedly, dark hair snaking around her shoulders. She shivers and grips the cover below her, staring fixedly into the distance, trying to regain control. When Merlin leans down and catches her eye, she inhales and jerks back.

"Nightmares…" she croaks and gazes at him blankly and it's all he can do to keep staring at her. He knows what she dreams of and it makes him feel sick. She has endured god knows what torture but he is the one who haunts her nightmares? In the pale morning light she looks small and ghostly white, in contrast to the dark cloud around her head. She exhales a shaky breath and pushes back her hair, looking down at herself and then at Merlin. "Sometimes I wish that…" she trails off, the wistful smile on her face faltering. He knows who she is thinking of but says nothing. Gwen is a queen now, not the nostalgic handmaid that Morgana has in her head. Or maybe that's not what she was thinking at all.

"I'll go down and get us breakfast…I suppose that weed you mentioned is in this food too?" he adds, trying to sound nonchalant. Morgana nods, distracted.

"Yes. I suppose the freshly caught fish are free of it, wild game…"

"Right…" he stares at the sliver of shimmering blue over the rooftops. He's never been much of a fisherman but now his magic depends on it, as does hers. He shoulders his pack as she sits back, calmer now. Behind her are pillows; she must have pushed them against the headboard during the night, unable to sleep on her back.

"You haven't asked what happened to me…" she says suddenly and Merlin freezes. He hasn't but that's not because he doesn't care. A dark, bleeding part of him will break, the part that cared for her, that had hope. Over time that feeling, that softness, has hardened into stone. He is not the boy he was, for good or ill. Nevertheless, that seed of blame and doubt is in that dark place and just needs to be touched to germinate. What could grow from it will choke him and he will need to burn from the inside out to be free of it. He must. Everything he has done he has been for the greater good, for Camelot and Arthur, and that included turning his back on Morgana. He cannot afford to be weak, and that means guarding his heart. It was fate and he is nothing but a servant to it.

He smiles briefly. "I didn't want to push. And maybe I'm not…" he trails off, caught in her unblinking stare, and feels ashamed. When had he become so selfish? "When you're ready. I'll get some fish and oranges from the orchid, I think they're safe."

She nods, her eyelids heavy. "The sooner I regain my strength the sooner Aithusa is free and we can finally leave this place," she says tiredly, her eyes closing and Merlin turns to leave when she speaks again. "Avoid clams and shellfish."

Merlin frowns, looking over his shoulder. "What?"

"Have to think of the baby," she utters, one hand on her stomach. Her eyes are closed, as if asleep, but the corner of her mouth quirks. Well at least the oubliette never took her sense of humour.

"Ha-ha. How could I have forgotten?" he asks and leaves her smiling, face turned towards the rising sun.

* * *

"I hope your wife is feeling better?" Isadore, the innkeeper, asks Merlin compassionately as he comes into the foyer, his pack weighed down with oranges. Isadore had been kind enough to let him use his kitchen and so cooked the fish he caught that morning. Merlin pauses, about to correct him but instead makes a wincing expression.

"She's still quite weak but better than she was. I think a few days of rest will do her good."

"Of course. My wife, god rest her soul, suffered terribly when she was with child. I gave her a little bell to ring," he shakes an imaginary bell and Merlin imagines the little man rushing up and down the stairs to comfort his wife. He smiles softly and then feels a pang of guilt. The man was kind and they were lying to him. Morgana was not pregnant but he had to play along with the pretence. A clump of leaves hanging over the entrance catches his eye and Isadore turns.

"Witch's fear. To ward off evil," Isadore says seriously and Merlin swallows convulsively. That's the weed that smoothers magic. The innkeeper may be kind but he would turn them in without a second thought if he knew they had magic, pretend baby or no pretend baby. Merlin looks back at him with smile.

"A bell? I'll keep that in mind. Thank you," he inclines his head and moves up to their room. He had found her clothes, a brush for her hair and asked Isadore to bring up a bathtub so she could have a bath that night. Merlin had bathed in the sea that morning, news she took with a smirk. It felt odd asking for these things but also the most natural thing in the world. Serving others has been his life, he just never guessed it would be Morgana.

He enters the room and freezes. It is empty. Frowning he walks onto the balcony and looks over the side but the courtyard is empty. He immediately worries that she has been taken by guards but Isadore would have said something. Merlin walks back in, scratching his head, wondering if she had run away when he notices a strand of hair on the floor. He crouches down and looks under the bed.

"M – Morgana?" he blinks in shock as she turns to face him. She is curled up on her side and her eyes seem to float in her face, pale and blue. "Why are you under the bed?"

"…I couldn't breathe," she explains quietly. If her enemies knew that Morgana Pendragon was now hiding under a bed they would not believe it. Merlin gets on his knees and then lies on his side so he can talk to her.

"Are…are you better now?" he did not know what to say or do. He had no idea how to comfort her and even now the feeling is a queasy one.

"Do you remember when I would go to Gaius after I had a nightmare? He would give me a potion?" she asks him, not answering his question.

"I remember," the first time he saw her he had been delivering it to her, not knowing what it was or what it was truly doing to her. She had been wearing blue, staring at her reflection and his heart had stopped beating at the beauty of her.

"I was so angry, so frustrated at feeling so foggy. I wouldn't mind that right now," she smiles weakly and then looks up at the wooden slates above her. "It's exhausting being frightened all the time."

He reaches out and takes her hand before he could think. "You don't have anything to fear."

"There are always things to fear. I thought I was beyond that…What do monsters fear?" she stares into his eyes and he has no answer for her. She smiles again, looking aside. "They fear those who have none. People like Sarrum, like the sister…" she trails off, her gaze unfocused. Merlin can guess who the sister is, the woman with magic he met in the castle.

"You won't be imprisoned again Morgana. I said I'd help you," he whispers, squeezing her hand she looks at him in silence for a long time before speaking.

"I used to dream of Arthur rescuing me, of the knights in their red cloaks leading me back to Camelot but no one ever came," she utters quietly and Merlin swallows his pain down. Morgana frowns, looking at him in puzzlement. "I never thought it would be you."

"I'm just a servant…" he offers her a brief smile and her eyes narrow.

"You're something but a servant? I don't think so."

"Well then, you'll be surprised to know I've ordered you a bath and it will be ready at sunset," he replies smartly and she finally manages a real smile.

"You're a strange man."

"Then we make a pair," he answers and she's not offended, just snorts and looks up at the bottom of the bed. She sighs and places her hands against the wood.

"I used to hide under the bed as a child when I had a nightmare and Gwen would sleep under it with me…but she's not here any more and I'm no child," she nods and then shuffles out from underneath, Merlin moving back on his knees. Once in the full light she inhales deeply and Merlin smiles.

"I don't think we ever stop being children. Time isn't linear…"

"It's a wheel, a shining silver wheel," she adds and sits on the bed. Whatever fear beset her is now gone. The druids believe that time is a wheel and the goddess guides it, is part of it. He gazes down at her, aware that there is so much about her he does not know. That works both ways and always will, so much unspoken...

"Rest, if you can. Isadore has a bell you can use if you need to. He's worried about the baby," he smirks, eyeing her stomach and she smiles.

"Our poor child…" she studies his features closely and he feels something inside him heating, like a coal on a fire. She looks aside with an odd smile and pulls herself up onto the bed and lies down. He leaves her and stands by the balcony as a sea breeze plays over his face and makes his hair stir and the heat inside him throbs. It's an old feeling.

* * *

_a.n:_

_thank you again for the response guys! I think Merlin is feeling things he would rather not ;)_


	4. Chapter 4

Days pass, largely uneventful and hot while the nights are filled with music from the street below and her screams from nightmares.

"It's okay, it's okay," he assures her, hesitating before he places a hand against her back.

"They're going to execute Aithusa!" she pants and Merlin shifts beside her on the bed. Is it a nightmare or are her visions returning?

"What did you see?"

"The…the courtyard, Aithusa pinned down and a man with an axe," she inhales and wipes at her cheeks, her shoulders shaking. Over the last few days colour has returned to her skin, along with her strength but her desperation and worry for Aithusa increases by the hour.

"I – I don't think dragons can be killed with an axe," he reasons and she turns to him sharply. In fact, he knows what can kill a dragon: old age, another dragon or a dragon lord.

"It's just what I saw!"

"I believe you…" he watches as she gets to her feet and begins to pace irritably. She has to hide but being cooped up in the room is getting to her. He can't imagine the confusing mix of longing to be outside but also fearing it. She steps out onto the balcony, hands ringing around the banister and he moves behind her as she stares up at the night sky.

"This has happened before. I escaped but I had to go back for Aithusa and that's how they captured me. That – that was the last time I tried…" she shakes her head, speaking more to herself than him. He gazes at the side of her face.

"They'll expect you to be coming back for her…but not me," he utters softly and she turns to him. She does not speak just stares at him with a look that he is familiar with: confusion and distrust. He can sympathise. No matter what horror she has been through, he cannot stop himself wondering if one night she will be standing over him with a knife.

"You can't do it alone. As you've been reminding me you're a servant, how do you expect to get her out of that place without help and a dozen guards surrounding you?"

_Because I have magic..._The words are on the tip of his tongue, as they so often are but with Morgana the compulsion to speak the truth has always been incredibly hard to resist. He swallows and nods.

"You're right, I can't do it alone but I am right about one thing. They won't be expecting me and so I'll have the element of surprise," he sounds confident but in his mind the map clustered with lights hangs there. Before he even attempts to rescue Aithusa he has to destroy it.

Morgana makes a noise of frustration and turns back into the room. She sits by a vanity mirror where she picks up a candlestick and blows out the flame. For hours she has been trying to light it but to no avail.

"I feel my magic returning, each day it's stronger but I have to practice," she hunches her shoulders and leans down, blue eyes focusing on the black wick that still smokes and mutters the spell to light it. Merlin sighs as music drifts through the open window. The festival, an ancient midsummer celebration, has morphed into an anti-magic event, one filled with joy and revelry. As if their light, faith and laugher has chased away some kind of circling darkness. It feels perverse being amongst them but he has never really followed the Old Religion and so does not feel as offended as others with magic might. All he has heard and experienced of it is terror, hate and the will to control. He cannot fault them their relief.

"Yes!" Morgana cry of happiness follows a flare of light as the candle flickers into life, bathing the room in a warm glow. She sighs and sits back, accomplished but clearly drained.

"Congratulations," he sits on the edge of the bed and Morgana's smile fades and her eyes narrow. Did he sound condescending? Possibly.

"You know once my power is back I won't have any need of you," she speaks low, like her old self but her voice catches a little. "You saved me and I'll repay you by letting you live." Once that would have sounded threatening, now it's feeble and she knows it.

Merlin cocks an eyebrow. "Well that's a relief. My holiday is only meant to last a month. Arthur will wonder where I am."

"Some holiday…why here of all places?"

Merlin shrugs. "I was curious; I've never been so far from home."

"And how is dear old Camelot these days?" she asks wryly and Merlin wants to say safe and content since she has been out of their lives but holds his tongue. Once he would have said it with no remorse but not now.

"It's…peaceful. Arthur and Guinevere are fair and just rulers and that's not something Camelot has experienced in a very long time," he explains to her softly and she listens with an odd expression. He expects a snarl, a contemptuous remark but gets none. She just looks wistful, in a hollow sort of way.

"Once I would have been happy to see the citadel burn to the ground if I could not rule it…down in the dark I was so angry those first few months. I would imagine you all dead and worse but anger is like fuel: it keeps you going for awhile but eventually it runs out. I hated you all for the longest time but in the end it was those memories that kept me sane. Sane and sad."

As she speaks, the candle flame steadily rises and falls until it rushes up and down with her heartbeat. Or maybe it's his. He breathes deeply, unable to look away from her face. She stares at nothing, a thousand miles away in a shining white castle where she was younger and compassion still filled her heart. Merlin, caught up in the past and what could have been, speaks before he thinks.

"I sometimes imagine my life having two paths, this one I'm on now and the other…" he trails off, unable to finish and she gazes at him, head cocked to the side.

"The other?"

"Where you're still there," he struggles to speak but it feels like a stopper has been removed and now he is helpless to what comes forth.

"Still in Camelot? What would be different to make that happen?" she asks, her voice soft but her eyes shine in a dangerous way. "What would _you_ have done different?"

"I know what you're talking about. I didn't want to poison you Morgana, I was telling the truth. I had no other choice," he leans low, imploring her to understand but she looks at him through hooded eyes.

"There are always choices. You could have told me and I would have talked down my sister, we would have found another way…but you didn't trust me. I still don't know why, I thought I was your friend."

"You were! You – you were the first person I met in Camelot who was different, who thought differently about magic," he stutters, the truth now like burning river in his chest. "That's what I would have done differently."

"What?" her eyes are blazing now, though they are wet with unshed tears.

"When your magic manifested for the first time and you confided in me I said that I wish there was something I could say."

"I'll never forget that. I was devastated but I don't know what I expected from you," the candle flame now reaches almost to the ceiling as he leans down and takes her hands in his.

"If I could go back and change anything it would be that moment. I would have told you that I believed you had magic and that it wasn't something to be scared of. I would have told you that it didn't make you a bad person."

"…Do you still believe that?" Morgana inhales, tears dripping down her cheeks and he fights everything in him not to pull her into his arms.

"I think you've done terrible things for a crown that isn't yours and there's no excusing that…but I think people can change, if they want to. You were one of the kindest people I had ever met and what you're doing for Aithusa proves to me that person is still there."

She shakes her head, biting her twitching lip and dries her face with the back of her hand. "For a valet you're quite presumptuous Merlin. I don't know if that would have changed anything and the time for wishing is long over…but you're right, I do plan to make some changes."

He does not want this proclamation to fill him with dread but it does. "And what are those?"

"I had a lot of time to think down there, to figure out what was important and who I was. I'm no Pendragon, I'm not Arthur's sister or Uther's daughter, or even my mother's. I am the last high priestess of the goddess, she is my mother and I am here to exact her will on this earth. People like me are being wiped out, being punished for a quirk of birth and the majority of those people would not harm anyone or pick up a butter knife to save their own lives."

"You know that's not wholly true. Those with magic have targeted Camelot, almost killed us time and again."

"Can you blame them? You burn down a man's home, slaughter his children and you don't expect him to retaliate? However, people like that are rare, you only experienced it because you sit at the table of the oppressor. The druids are being driven from their lands, killed and worse and if that community is gone people with magic will die out. Do you understand? There won't be any of us left to fear and the balance of the world will be changed forever," she rises from her chair, her shadow taking up half the wall and Merlin rises with her. He looms above her.

"That's why you came here, wasn't it? To stop Sarrum?" That is exactly the reason why the Dragon sent him here, to stop the plot the tyrant had created. Did Kilgharrah know that Morgana was here? He must have. Did he send him here because she had failed?

"Yes but it doesn't stop with him. He is setting up a trade between countries, selling Witch's Fear to far-flung places in exchange for wealth and allegiance. Even your precious Camelot will be part of it."

"No way, Arthur would never agree."

Morgana frowns at him. "Don't be naïve. Arthur is not his father's son but he sees those with magic as a threat. He would jump at the chance at smothering magic, if it meant less blood on his hands. Your just and fair rulers will be lining up along with the rest."

Merlin, still shaking his head, watches as she gets ready for bed, slipping behind a screen. He knows that she is talking reason and that given the opportunity many rulers would get down on their knees to have the latent threat of magic removed from their lands but Arthur is different, isn't he? He would not impose such a decree without serious thought, and not without consorting with the Druids first. Would Camelot be the only land free of the weed, the only place on earth that those with magic can escape to? How vulnerable would that make them? How powerful?

As these thoughts whirl around his head Morgana gets into bed. She had removed the mattress and sleeps on blanket covered slates, something she finds more comfortable. Merlin heads towards the screen and he sees her smirk before getting undressed.

"If there a Mrs Merlin back in Camelot?" she asks suddenly, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

"Not that it's your business but no." A lake flashes into his mind and he squeezes his eyes shut before pulling his nightshirt over his head. "Why?"

"Oh, I was just curious. You're what, thirty now?"

"Yes. Unless I'm wrong you think I'm an old spinster?"

"No that's exactly what I think. Unless I've mistaken your preference?"

Merlin laughs and moves towards her abandoned mattress on the floor. It's better than the couch. "How are we having this conversation? Is there some poor sap _I_ should know about? You _are_ my wife after all." The thought, one he hasn't even considered, causes an odd flash of bitterness to pass through him. She has always, for as long as he has known her, been unattached.

"There you go with your impertinence again. Don't start blushing Merlin. It was what you were saying before, how things could have been different. You imagine me back in Camelot? Well in all likelihood I would have been married off to some lord, produced a couple of kids and living in some draughty castle by now."

"Hiding who you really are?"

"Maybe. I suppose there are those of higher birth with magic, hiding it from everyone. Who knows, maybe I would be grateful for the weed."

"Maybe…" he has pondered it himself, how much simpler his life would be if he had no magic but he cannot conceive being without it. It is who he is. However those who pose a threat to Camelot? He would gladly force it down their throats.

"I wonder what it does to pregnant women… magic is hereditary after all," she muses sleepily, rubbing her flat stomach and he hums in consideration. As he's about to answer a soft knock sounds against the door and Merlin jerks up right and the candle puffs out, plunging them in darkness.

"Sir? Mistress?" Isadore says in a stage whisper, turning the handle and Merlin flutters around before Morgana grabs his arm and pulls him into bed with her.

"Enter," she says sleepily and Merlin sits upright as she presses herself against his side, ducking her head out of the beam of light that shines from the doorway. Isadore, in a nightgown and white cap, bows his head apologetically.

"Forgive the interruption. Sir, you asked me to remind you before bedtime that tomorrow is the end of the celebration. It is not to be missed."

Merlin and Morgana smile, exhaling. "Oh, of course! Thank you!"

"We'll be sure to attend. It sounds…intriguing," she says with a weak smile.

"I hear there will have a band of poor druids on show especially! Also, I could not help notice that you do not have any Witch's Fear over the window. I hope you do not mind but I have procured some for you," he shuffles into the room and lays a clump of leaves bound with string on the dresser, before the mirror. "Well I won't keep you any longer. Rest well," he bows his head again and softly closes the door, leaving them in darkness again.

"On show?" Merlin whispers as he sits up, winching. The bed is very uncomfortable. He gazes down at her and feels a white-hot flush spreading through him. Her eyes shine a pale gold in the dark and the leaves by the mirror begin to smoke and curl.

"I have an idea…"

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_if you've read my other Mergana fics you'll know I'm very much for Morgana being a champion for those with magic who cannot protect themselves. Basically what Merlin should be doing..._

_Things get real next chapter ;)_


	5. Chapter 5

The morning of the celebration dawns clear and bright and as Merlin makes his way through empty cobbled streets sweat beads and runs down his neck. It would be a swelteringly hot day, which is why the special events would begin at sunset. However, the entire city is preparing for it, their attention focused elsewhere.

Morgana, who he realises is a fantastic strategist, said that they needed a distraction if he is going to rescue Aithusa. The celebration should do most of that job for them but he would like to see how many guards remain in the castle when their precious stores of Witch's Fear are on fire. He had scouted out the area to the north before sunrise and found one barn, which stored seed, a mist house for propagation and two huge fields. With her magic, as weak as it is, Morgana should be able to torch the lot.

As Merlin rounds a corner and the arch to the stables comes into view he slows, an odd feeling starting to writhe in his stomach. He moves quickly to the arch and peers through it. The square with the orange tree and dry fountain are unchanged but the guards disappearing into the inn is the very last thing he expects to see. He has been too assured of their safety.

"Morgana…" he breathes, staring up at their room at the top of the building. The windows are closed. Cursing he pulls himself out of sight and thinks of what to do when a noise catches his attention. He peers around the arch again and sees that the door to the old stables is ajar. The noise, the trilling of birdsong, reaches his ear again and he smiles. The sound is native to a blackbird in Camelot and not found here. Crouching low he darts towards the open door and almost collides with Morgana who has been standing behind it.

"Merlin! Didn't you hear me? I've been whistling like a sailor since you arrived! I was thinking about setting you on fire to see if you'd notice that," she hisses irritably at him, bending down low against a wall and bringing him with her.

"Easy, calm down. What happened?"

"I heard the guests talking to Isadore, they were suspicions about us because they never see me. He tried to reason with them but in the end he called the guards. I think he was starting to suspect us too."

"The Witch's Fear he gave us last night."

"Exactly. I grabbed what I could and climbed down the orange tree. I almost fell but here you go," she pushes his pack at him and he smiles.

"Thank you. We were not going to come back to this place anyway. Come on," he grabs her hand and making sure that the coast is clear they walk quickly out of the stables and continue at a leisurely pace until they reach the corner of the street and starts jogging. When they reach the wealthier and cleaner middle circle of the city they slow. More people surround them, excited children rushing in and out of their homes, shouting for their parents to hurry. Merlin and Morgana duck under the shade of a lilac tree to catch their breath.

"I don't think they suspect it was you, they probably had no idea," Merlin reasons, wiping sweat away from his face with the hem of his sleeve. It is very hot now and the hood over his head is doing him no favours. In fact it only draws attention to them as people walk around in linen, silks and lace. Everyone appears to have dressed especially for the occasion.

"Lower your hood, it's boiling and we look odd," Merlin whispers, taking off his cloak completely and bundling it up into his pack. Morgana, who had been waving at her face, lowers her hand and closes it into a fist.

"Fine…" she lowers her hood and Merlin's mouth falls open. Her hair, which she had managed to get under control, now hangs in deep waves above her shoulders. It's shinier and healthier looking but he has never seen it so short.

"Your hair…did you do that while I was gone?"

"Obviously. They're looking for a woman with long hair. My hair is short and…" she smirks, taking off her cloak and coat. She is dressed in tan breeches, brown leather boots and a white shirt covered with a simple blue vest. He does not want to stare but it is obvious she has gone to the hassle of flattening her chest. He wonders if she has trouble breathing now but says nothing. He looks up into her eyes and she stares at him as if expecting some snide remark.

"Reminds me when you came to Ealdor to fight alongside me," he answers and her eyebrow lifts.

"I wasn't dressed like a man then."

"I know but you weren't wearing a dress either. How does it feel?"

"Liberating. You have no idea how hard it is to run in a dress."

"Well…" he answers, making her laugh and he finds himself smiling softly at her before he looks down at the pack at his feet. "Where did you get all this?"

"Isadore. I think he wanted to help us, despite turning us in. He left these outside the door, along with these," she bends down, opens the pack and, after some rummaging, produces two masks.

"For the celebration," he takes one from her and tries it on, a feathered bird mask that covers his upper face, while her mask is fashioned from two large butterfly wings, an iridescent blue-black.

"What do we do now?"

Merlin watches as a throng of people, mostly families with their children, head down the main avenue towards the beach. Before the big event in the main square it seems the inhabitants enjoy the seaside.

"Do as they do until it's time," he smiles, shouldering his pack and after some hesitation Morgana comes to his side and they make their way to the beach.

* * *

"It's so blue. You don't get a view like that in Camelot."

Merlin sighs, sitting crossed legged beside Morgana. She nods, pinching white sand between her fingers and toes nervously. Since finding a quiet place to sit all she has been doing is watching the path of the sun and craning her head back to look up at the palace atop of the cliff.

"How much longer?"

"A few hours. Relax, there's nothing we can do until the event at the square begins," he keeps his tone calm but he feels as anxious as she does but they cannot afford to give into it. They have to look as happy and excited as the rest. While sunbathers carpet the beach, the sea is crammed with bobbing people splashing and diving.

"We're exposed here."

"Along with a thousand other people. Do you see any guards here?"

She purses her lips and shakes her head. "It's not the guards I'm worried about…" a thousand yard stare appears in her eyes, one Merlin has seen often. He shuffles closer to her and throws an orange into her lap, making her jerk to attention.

"If I eat anymore of these I'll turn into one," she comments dryly even as she begins to peel the skin. The taste of oranges, the smell of it will always remind him of this place. Of her. Merlin watches the light ripple on the water and his mind strays to Aithusa.

"How did you find the dragon?" he has been incredibly curious but any questions about Aithusa would just make her anxious and sad. Maybe the warmth and the open air has calmed her because when she answers her voice is level.

"I was dying and she saved me. She was just a little thing but so…happy, so innocent. I expected her to fly away, in fact I demanded that she leave me alone, that I didn't want her but she never did," Morgana smiles wistfully, her gaze unfocused. "She couldn't even speak…I tried to teach her but…"

Merlin swallows with difficulty. How different would things be if he had kept that dragon with him, kept her safe? If he had than Morgana would now be dead. Merlin shakes his head and inhales.

"But you know her name?"

"Sometimes I hear her voice in my head, mostly in my dreams. She said it means light of the sun," Morgana smiles lovingly, shaking her head. "I wouldn't have called her that, she's a creature of the moon."

"All dragons are creatures of fire," he says a little too bluntly and Morgana cocks her head.

"Are they really? Thank you for pointing that out. Anyway when did you become an expert on dragons?" her eyes narrow playfully.

"Well when I came to Camelot finding out that a huge fire breathing dragon was sleeping below me I was understandably curious. I asked Gaius," he explains smoothly. It wasn't a total lie, really.

"The Great Dragon. When we were younger, me and Arthur dared each other to go into his cave to see if we could see him. We managed to slip pass the guards once and stood on a lip of stone in this vast catacomb. We saw nothing but I'm sure I heard snoring," she smiles, shaking her head at the memory before the smile drips away. "I don't blame the dragon for attacking us once he escaped. I didn't see what we were doing to him then…"

"You were just a child," Merlin reasons and Morgana shrugs.

"I'm amazed I never grew up to hate magic, brought up how I was. At first I was ashamed, I thought there was something wrong with me but that never turned to self-hate. I'm glad for that, I'm lucky for that."

Merlin nods in understanding. His mother had never fostered any ill will towards those with magic, always accepting of him but fearing the reveal of his magic and the consequences. He, like Morgana, was surrounded by those who feared and even hated magic and it was hard sometimes not to let those notions sink in. They likely have, like a layer of silt below clear water. Back in his village he felt like a powder keg in a wooden shed. He would have exploded sooner or later.

The weight of responsibility and the long years of hiding suddenly weigh heavy on him and it feels torturous, because it is a weight he chooses to carry. To be as free and happy as the people surrounding them, what he would not give for a life like that. To be normal for a few short hours…Merlin stands suddenly and pulls his shirt over the back of his head, keeping his pants on. They'll dry quick enough. Morgana stares up at him, her mouth parting.

"What are you doing?" she asks in a scandalised whisper, reminding him that no matter what she is now the mannered Lady is still in there.

"Going for a swim. Look you can go find some dark place to hide in until the time to act but I'm not. I doubt I'll get to experience this again, especially if the night ends with me in a cell or worse. Join me?"

He holds out his hand, staring down at her as she gazes past him at the sea. The sky is a deep azure and the water sparkles out to the horizon. It's beautiful but he has a sinking feeling that she's refuse his offer, not because she is too prudish or inflexible but because the amount of humanity pressing up against her is overwhelming. Or maybe she doesn't think she deserves this.

"I can't swim," she answers, surprising him as she gets to her feet. She unlaces her breeches, pushes them down her legs and straightens with her hands on her hips. The white shirt flaps around her knees and he has to drag his eyes back up to her face, which he's amused to see is flushed but defiant.

"Then stay by the shore," he says and walks towards the water, not looking back to see if she will follow. Once he wades in up to his hips, he turns and sees her toeing the water near to a group of children. One small boy jumps up and down, making her smile.

"Are you coming for the fireworks?" he asks excitedly and Morgana hesitates before nodding.

"I am! I've never seen them before. I bet you've seen lots, haven't you?" she asks and the little boy nods enthusiastically. Morgana smiles in surprise as he reaches for her and she goes towards his little friends, who shyly take her hands. Merlin grins and leaves her to splash around with the children, closing his eyes to float on his back. The image of her soft expression imprints on his eyelids, a look that he had seen once before many years ago.

That too had been for another little boy.

* * *

The beach begins to empty as people head towards the main square, the sun starting to slowly settle. Morgana laces up her boots and gets to her feet. The time here had been good for her but the pressure of what they are about to undertake weighs heavy again. As it does on him.

"I'll start the fires as the sun sets. You should see the smoke to the north," she says as Merlin hides his pack amongst the rocks and looks up at the white cliffs above him. It's a good forty feet up and the day is not any cooler. He pushes the mask to rest on top of his hair. If he gets caught he can at least hide his face and pretend to be a lost guest.

"I'll wait for the guards to leave and then get Aithusa out. I'll take her to the barn by the orange orchid. You meet me there and then…" he trails off. He has no idea what happens after that.

"Then we leave," she replies simply and he nods.

"If they capture me at least I'll be with Aithusa," he reasons, trying to lighten the mood but she stares at him seriously.

"I'll get you both out. Like I said before, I wouldn't leave my worst enemy down there."

_Is that what I am?_ He thinks and the question must be on his face because she averts her gaze. Not for the first time he considers what an odd pair they are, not friends but not the deathly enemies they once were. He wishes that it were not so liminal.

"You're risking a lot for Aithusa," she says quietly and he looks back down at her.

"From what you've told me she's innocent and helpless. I can't stand by and do nothing_. I'm the Last Dragon Lord, this is my duty…and I owe her._

Morgana nods and lifts her chin, eyes pinning his. "Good luck. If all goes to plan we'll meet at the orchid at nightfall."

"If not tell Arthur his stupid servant has got himself arrested."

"Oh he'll love that, especially coming from me," she smiles weakly, hesitates and then grips his arm. "Please, get her out. It's my fault for bringing her here in the first place, for not being strong enough to save her. She – she's all I have left in the world."

"That's not true," he answers softly and the torment in her eyes calls forth a storm inside him. He pulls her into his arms and she stiffens, her fingers digging painfully into his shoulders but he does not care. She pulls her head back, breathing heavily, and his eyes flick down to her parted lips and back again to her eyes. Chests pressed together he leans closer, looking almost hypnotised, but as his mouth brushes close she turns her face aside and his lips graze her cheek instead. Morgana steps back, inhaling a sharp breath, and lowers her mask over her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't – I mean…" he gulps, his heart hammering against his ribs. He has one lasting impression of her oddly blank blue eyes before she turns and walks away without a word. Bewildered and hot with humiliation Merlin starts to climb the rock face, his teeth gritted with effort.

_What was I thinking?! I'm a bloody fool, a mad one! The sun has baked my brain..._

As these thoughts blast through his mind Merlin crests the palace wall and whispering a spell to keep himself concealed he runs to the large arch windows that show him the great hall. Servants mill around, setting up a huge lavish banquet. He could easily step through the open arch and destroy the map on the wall before anyone has a clue.

But drawing attention to the map could put his mission to free Aithusa in jeopardy. No, he has to try something else. As an idea comes to mind Merlin runs the length of the hall until he reaches the last window, which gives him a better view of the map. Lights twinkle, small gold specks of changing vibrancy and, sure enough, he can see his own burning dot where he stands.

The map shows every magically person in Albion and it will continue to for as long as the map stays on the wall. He won't change that but he'll take some pleasure in imagining the look of shock on Sarrum's face to see that all the lights have slowly converged to fill the space of his chambers. If he lives that long.

Hot and panting Merlin lifts a hand, about to whisper a spell when hushed voices issue from the hallway behind him. He walks backwards to peek through a window but before he gets there he freezes when they start to speak again.

"I don't think we're even on earth any more, I think we're actually on the surface of the sun. Do you think he'll be offended if we ditch the clothes and go in naked?"

"I _think_ a few eyebrows may be raised."

"I'm in if you are? We'll keep the crowns on so they know who we are. Ugh, what are we doing here again?"

"It was your decision to accept his request."

"Well it was a stupid one. I'll happily go to war if it means we escape this infernal heat. Oh, someone's coming. Last chance?"

"Sorry my love, the clothes stay on."

"At least for now."

"Arthur…"

Merlin, his eyes bulging out his head, watch as King Arthur and Queen Guinevere greet Sarrum with polite, serious faces.

_Morgana was right, they are involved._

* * *

_**a.n:** dundunduhhh! _


	6. Chapter 6

Feeling like his heart will burst Merlin watches as Sarrum leads Arthur and Guinevere into the hall. He peers around the window, eyes flicking between Arthur and the map and before the king has a chance to focus Merlin puffs out the little light that represents him.

"I heard you were delayed?" Sarrum turns to Arthur, who nods.

"A large band of druids were crossing over our path, otherwise we would have been here days ago. We've never seen their number before," Arthur adds as Guinevere nods.

"They tend to move around during midsummer, for the solstice."

"Or likely for another reason," Sarrum replies vaguely and lifts his hand towards the wall. "This map shows everyone who possess magic in this island. Tell me, what do you see?"

"It's rather beautiful, like fireflies..." Guinevere comments, smiling as she and Arthur move closer. As they do Merlin does the same and something he had not noticed becomes clear. The lights from all quarters are streaming west and already a pulsating glow shines over The Valley of the Fallen Kings. Seeing such a convergence so close to Camelot makes his heart pound.

"For the past year the druids have been steadily heading towards your land. As you've noted that is not odd, there are many sites around Camelot that draws them but recently that stream has become a flood. That was one of the reasons I asked you to attend, to warn you. You have not noticed?" his question is light but Sarrum's gaze is hard. Arthur stares at him unflinchingly.

"We have seen an increase in the number of druids but not to this extent. My men patrol that valley and the woods around it and found nothing suspicious."

Sarrum narrows his eyes, judging Arthur and must find him honest because he nods and stares back at the map. "They have the ability to cloak their whereabouts, when they're not scurrying around the forests like mice."

"Are you saying we have an infestation?" Guinevere asks, her voice a little sharp.

"I'm saying you have a force at your doorstep to rival any army on this earth," he answers bluntly and Guinevere looks shocked. Arthur shakes his head.

"The druids are peaceful. Aside from a few rogues we've never had quarrel with them."

"It's been thirty years since the Purge, an act that we here still bless your father for. That generation is dying out and a new one is replacing it who are not as passive as you think. I will prove this tonight and how to bring such to heel…but come; we can discuss this tomorrow, after the revelries. You've had a long journey and must be tired," Sarrum smiles and nods at some servants who come forward.

"Thank you…we're looking forward to it," Arthur smiles but it does not quite reach his eyes. He gazes at the map, at Camelot and suddenly Merlin realises how lucky he is to be here. If he was back in the citadel Arthur would now be looking at a burning beacon walking around the castle, proclaiming the truth he has kept so well.

The king and queen, accompanied by a few knights and Merlin's temporary replacement George, head out of the hall and are shown to their chambers. Merlin presses his back to the wall, fighting the pull to jump through the window and run after Arthur. But finding out what Arthur plans to do will have to wait. He came here to rescue Aithusa and he cannot risk failure. As the sunsets and casts the white walls of Amata a deep golden orange the first firework explodes in the sky, making Merlin jump. The celebration has begun and to the north a great pillar of black cloud billows into the air. Smoke.

"You've done it," Merlin whispers, his heart rising, and with a grin he pushes himself away from the wall and runs towards the courtyard. As a deep gonging fills the air, quickly joined with others, the guards lining the walls jerk upright in confusion.

"Fire! FIRE!" the cry echoes around the walls and guards dash to and fro, taking orders and giving them until the courtyard is empty and quiet. Merlin rushes towards the oubliette and as he gets closer he notes that the hatch is lying a few feet away. Frowning he drops to his knees and peers down.

Aithusa is gone.

"_What?_" Merlin grips the edges of the hole, staring into the darkness below but he is not mistaken. The chains the held the dragon are empty. He stands and grips at his hair, the beginnings of panic starting to make his heart palpitate. She cannot be dead; he would have felt her passing…

Cursing his luck Merlin turns and is about to leave when he slowly lowers his hands and looks back. Morgana and Aithusa have endured humiliation, degradation and torture at the hands of Sarrum. He cannot change that but he can make sure if they or anyone else captured never has to experience the same imprisonment.

Rocks crack and shift along the cliff face, trailing pebbles and earth as great chunks of stone burst forth, fly through the air and fall into the oubliette, packing the space until the slim prison cell is completely full of earth and rock. No one will be forced into it again.

Exhaling in relief, Merlin races out of the courtyard towards the square.

* * *

He told Morgana that they would meet at the barn but he cannot go back there without knowing what has become of Aithusa. He reaches the square as fireworks crack and explode in showers of light over a huge number of people, each one holding a candle. From above it must look like the magic map or a reflection of the approaching night sky: thousands of lights twinkling. They stare up expectantly at a draped plinth, where Sarrum, his court and guests sit. Arthur and Gwen watch the light display, smiling. Below them an orchestra plays, making the crowd clap and sway to every drumbeat but as Sarrum stands the music falls silent.

"Pray fall silent friends for the next marvel is not one to miss," he proclaims as his voice echoes out over the length of the square, which should be impossible but Merlin notices the Sister sitting near the back of the plinth, her eyes occasionally flashing a pale gold. The warlord claims to detest those with magic and yet he has the very thing he hates furthering his cause.

_Would this be my fate if Arthur knew? Helping to stop those that threaten us?_

The question is quiet, new, and it startles him because whenever he considers the outcome of Arthur knowing the truth his fate is either banishment or death. If Arthur decided to use his gifts how different would it be to what he has been doing for the last decade?

_No, it's not the same…she hates what she is…_

Thoughts force his attention from Sarrum but as music suddenly clashes Merlin looks up at the plinth and sees two carts rolling towards it. Fixed to the carts are metal cages, one covered with a tarp while the other is bare. Inside this a dozen people stand, their wrists and feet shackled.

"Druids…"

Isadore had said that the druids would be part of the main event and he is not wrong. As guards escort some of the prisoners up to the plinth the crowd stirs angrily, yelling in disgust, while other shout prayers in pity.

"Druids are poor, afflicted people who harbour peace in their hearts. It is our duty to free their souls from corruption. However, _these_ druids do not deserve your prayers," Sarrum shouts forcefully. "They have turned their backs on the passivity of their forefathers and have taken up arms against you! They would see you under their enchantments, under their evil!"

The crowd cries out in anger, fear, and those near the front surge forward, as if to attack the group of hooded druids. Merlin looks at the plinth and sees Gwen lean over to whisper into Arthur's ear, who nods. What are they thinking? Do they agree? Are they opposed? He wishes he could speak to them.

"They have refused to partake of Witch's Fear, lessening the symptoms of their curse. They chose not to repent and so this leaves me with no other option," Sarrum motions for the guards to push the first druid forward, who falls to their knees. Merlin moves closer to the plinth as Sarrum pushes the hood back and Merlin sees that it is a young woman with wavy, mousy brown hair. She stares up at Sarrum defiantly, utterly composed but her eyes sear with hatred.

"Kill me, I do not fear you. Where I die two more will take my place."

"Like a plague," Sarrum sneers and then that changes into a smirk. He leans low. "I do not intend to kill you, I intend to cure you. Bring forth the box," he straightens, leaving the girl to blink in confusion. The Sister walks forward, carrying a hinged wooden box in her hands. She smiles down at the druid benevolently.

"Be not afraid because soon your soul with be cleansed," she steps in front of the girl, blocking her from sight but Merlin can hear. The druid, like the crowd, is silent but as the lid to the box opens she gasps and jerks back. Then she starts to scream.

"Kara!"

Another druid struggles forward and the hood over his head falls back. At this distance Merlin can see the man's brilliant blue eyes, eyes that are full of agony. Mordred fights against the guards surrounding him, and his eyes shine a faint gold before he is overcome. Forced to his knees Mordred openly weeps for the girl as she sways and falls onto her back.

"Do not fight young man, soon you will join her. After you are cleansed I shall give you all another chance to repent, if you do not your fate will be decided," Sarrum says darkly and then turns to the crowd. Those at the back must be very confused at what is happening so the king smiles and lifts his hands.

"You all know the blessing that Witch's Fear has brought to our lives. It has provided work and trade to this beautiful city, has wiped clean the evil that once plagued Amata! A thing that would not be possible without Sister Birgit's tireless work," Sarrum motions towards the Sister who gently smiles.

"I am but a simple botanist," she replies humbly, inkling her head. Merlin feels a spike of loathing go through him. Arthur, who had got to his feet as the girl screamed, comes forward.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Sarrum smiles. "This girl, who would see you and everyone you hold dear dead, once had the ability to level mountains. She is now powerless. Not a trace of her magic remains," he shouts this out to the crowd who clap and cheer as Kara turns on her side and sobs quietly to herself. Nausea sweeps over Merlin as people celebrate around him, crying aloud their joy that another soul has been saved, that they have been blessed to witness it.

Glaring up at the plinth Merlin watches as Arthur touches the girl on the shoulder and she flinches away as if burned. Fireworks boom overhead, music begins to play and the people gathered jump and spin ecstatically. His face like thunder the king of Camelot moves back towards Gwen, clearly about to leave, when Mordred is dragged over to the Sister.

"MORDRED!"

The shriek is drowned out by the music but Merlin turns sharply at the sound, his eyes scanning the crowd. Pushing people out of the way Morgana struggles towards the plinth, her desperate eyes fixed on Mordred, who seems stunned. She must have gone to the barn, found it empty and come back to look for him. Merlin rushes forward and hooks his arm around Morgana's waist, pulling her against his chest.

"They'll see you!"

"I don't care! Mordred!" she yells, struggling forward but Merlin does not let go.

"I'm sorry but we can't risk discovery," he pants into her ear but she shakes her head and lifts a hand. He does not see the glow of her eyes but so close he feels an odd pulse go through him as she uses magic. A spark catches the hem of the velvet cloth draping the plinth and it instantly starts to burn.

"FIRE!"

For the second time that night cries of fire fill the air and the people closest to the plinth scream and back away. On the plinth Sarrum and his guests rush away, while Arthur and Gwen run towards the chained druids. In the crush of the fleeing crowd Merlin and Morgana are violently buffeted as they try to get to the plinth.

"We must help them!" Merlin shouts, coughing as smoke fills his lungs and finally releases his hold on Morgana. They rush forward but the fire dances high now, the heat pushing them back. Morgana jumps through the flames, towards Mordred, while Merlin runs for the cages where he last saw Arthur. Unseen he utters a spell to unshackle all of the chains and the druids do not waste any time. They race from the cage but instead of running to safety they gather around the other cart. The tarp that had been covering it is aflame and it is only then that Merlin sees what is inside.

"Aithusa!"

The white dragon huddles away from the commotion around her but seems unhurt by the fire that singes the wood at her feet. The dragon must have been another spectacle to show the crowds, a fearsome beast proved to be no more than a cowering creature. Merlin races towards the cart to help the druids push it away.

"Push!" a woman shouts, her mouth and nose covered by a silk handkerchief. Merlin, with the limited magic of the druids around him, manages to push the cart away from the square until it is flying along the avenue, parting a sea of people, with Aithusa screaming shrilly from inside. Panting for breath they come across a sentry of guards at the city wall. As one the druids and Merlin roar a spell and the guards scatter through the air like leaves caught in a gale. Laughing in a mixture if exhilaration and fear Merlin races after the cart, which is bumping along the road by itself now.

"We're free of the city!" the woman shouts as they finally reach the cover of trees and come to a stop. The woman pulls down the cloth over her face and Merlin feels his heart stop.

"…Gwen?"

The queen of Camelot blinks at Merlin, who is as surprised to see him as he is to see her. "Merlin? What – what are you doing here?"

"I – I was on holiday," he stutters awkwardly.

"You…you have…" she trails off weakly, unable to finish but the truth is in her eyes. She is dumbfounded. His heart pounding with fright Merlin grins.

"What? Magic? Come on I was just -"

"I saw you, _I saw you_…" she shakes her head, trying to catch her breath. "It makes sense now, all those times. I suppose…" she continues to stare at him in bewilderment and then looks at the druids and cart behind her as if seeing them for the first time. "I suppose this takes precedence."

Grabbing onto the fact she hasn't run away screaming or attacked him for his betrayal Merlin nods. "Why did you help?"

"Honestly I don't know. I got swept up in it…but what I saw was not right," Gwen straightens, staring at the surrounding druids who watch her warily.

"Guinevere Pendragon," a man with a grey and white beard says gruffly. He has a druid symbol tattooed on his neck. He reminds Merlin of an angry badger. "You have helped us when you had no call to."

"There was every call to," she answers and lifts her chin. "Do not let my decision by in vein. Run, while you can."

"Maybe not all Pendragon's are a lost cause. We will not forget this," the man says, inclining his head and leads the druids away, pulling Aithusa along with them. The dragon croons softly, her blue eyes fixed on Merlin.

_Goodbye, name giver…_

An echoing, rippling voice speaks lightly through his mind. Aithusa sounds very young, young and fragile. He watches her disappear through the trees and feels something lifting away. She is free, she is safe.

Merlin looks at Guinevere, hardly able to meet her eye, as a thought blares in his head.

_How safe am I?_

* * *

"Arthur!" she yells as they reach the square, which is almost empty now. He and Gwen had to fight their way back through a crowd of people making their way home. He trails behind as she strides forward purposely, calling out Arthur's name. She has not said a word to him since the forest. He feels that he will burst if she does not say something.

"What – what will you tell Arthur?"

"Nothing, for now. I think that is your responsibility," she answers coldly, her mouth pursing and Merlin feels his heart crack. He shakes his head, looking at his feet.

"It is but I…I've left it too long. I'm scared," he admits in a whisper and Gwen finally looks at him. Tears shine in her disbelieving eyes.

"What could you possibility have to fear? Merlin you are our dearest friend, _my_ dearest friend! Do you think you mean so little to me that I would _ever_ see you come to harm?" Even as her words cause her to cry she is shaking with anger. Gwen has always kept her emotions far below the surface, it is one of the things that makes her such a good queen. She appears cool and serene because she feels too much and right now she is rocking with it.

"No, I…Oh this is so hard to explain," he gazes desperately at her as she wipes her cheeks with the back of her hands. "To have magic means to live in secret. I've been doing that since I was a child. It's a hard thing to unlearn…"

"Even so…" she sighs and her arms drop limply to her side. "As queen I will not lie for you Merlin…but as your friend I will help you as much as I can. You must tell Arthur as soon as possible."

"I know, I know," he nods, feeling very drained as they come towards the smouldering remains of the plinth. Sarrum stands with a small group of guards, his face murderous. Sir Gwaine smiles in relief, nudging Arthur who turns.

"Guinevere!" he rushes forward and gathers Gwen into his arms, his face beaming. "I thought you had been taken!"

"I…I got swept up in the crowd," she replies smoothly and steps back. As she does, Arthur glances at Merlin and nods in greeting before he does a double take.

"Merlin?"

"Hello Arthur," he smiles and tries to act as normal as possible. Arthur blinks in confusion.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was on holiday when I heard that you were here," he answers, even more convincing than Gwen, who eyes him peripherally. "I got pulled by the crowd and met Gwen."

"Well, this is a coincidence but good timing none the less!" he smiles and takes Gwen's hand. As he moves aside Merlin notices a group of druids who did not manage to escape. A huddled figure lies on the ground before them and his stomach plummets. Without thinking about it he comes forward and turns the figure over and Morgana's bloody face peers up at him.

"They beat her unconscious," a rough voice says and Merlin looks up at Mordred. This close his blue eyes are startling. Blood runs down the side of his face, he must have put up a fight. Sarrum sneers down at her as Arthur comes forward, a light frown on his face.

"What will you do with these druids?" Guinevere asks.

"Execute them," Sarrum answers with no hesitation and Mordred stiffens. He catches Arthur's eye, who looks deeply uncomfortable.

"I pulled you out of the fire. I saved your life."

"You did…" Arthur looks at Sarrum, who is looking to the north and the smoke still billowing. "I request that you spare this man's life for his act of bravery. He saved not just my life but others too."

"Do what you will," Sarrum says distractedly, waving a hand and leaves them to order his guards before disappearing into his castle. The loss of the weed clearly means more to him than a bunch of druids or even Morgana.

Merlin, who feels like his heart has not stopped pounding for hours, feels a coldness shoot up his back as Mordred smiles at Arthur and then bends down to check on Morgana. As he does Arthur's gaze follows him.

"Who is…who…_Morgana_? He asks in disbelief and gets down on his knees. Merlin is not surprised that he had not recognised her. Mordred touches her face tenderly and she begins to rouse.

"I have been searching for her for months," Mordred explains.

"We thought she was dead," Arthur shakes his head, his gaze growing sad. "Why were you searching for her?"

"I heard that Sarrum had a dragon and a powerful witch and after some digging I found out who. I heard what he was doing to her but it was so hard to get close with that blasted map on the wall," Mordred hooks his arms around Morgana and stands up. She is so light now that the smaller man can carry her without trouble.

"What he did to her?" Guinevere asks. She has been silent since seeing Morgana, looking more wary than Arthur.

"You do not know? We suspect that Sarrum has been torturing her for years, kept her in a tiny cell. An oubliette. Despite your history I thought we were here on common purpose. She's your sister, after all," Mordred stares at Arthur with an innocent sincerity and while it seems to ring true Merlin cannot trust him.

"Morgana…" Arthur whispers gently, staring at her face as if transported back years. As a bell starts to ring through the square Arthur straightens, coming back to himself. He gazes between Merlin and Mordred, eyes narrowing. "She should come back to Camelot but the people will never stand for it, even in a cell."

"No cells," Merlin blurts out before he can stop himself. "I imagine she's had enough of those."

"Yes I think so too…" Arthur stares at Mordred and Kara, who has not said a word. "Once my sister sought out the druids. I didn't know the truth then that she was seeking help, but maybe, if you are willing…?"

"Morgana is the last Priestess of the Goddess, it would be an honour," Kara speaks up, her voice hoarse from crying. She stares at Morgana's face with an odd hunger.

"She saved my life once, you all did," Mordred says, looking at each of those gathered in turn and recognition enters Arthur's eyes. "I owe you my loyalty."

"Take care of her, where I could not…Hurry before Sarrum changes his mind," Arthur says, looking over his shoulder and the druids begin to walk away. Arthur takes hold of Merlin's shoulder.

"Go with them, you too Gwaine. The druids are gathering on our doorstep and I want to know why. I think with Mordred you will be safe and they have no reason to distrust you. For all the suffering she has put us through I failed with Morgana and I do not intend to let that happen again. If there is even a possibility she can be brought back…"

"Go? For how long?"

"Until the next moon. Come back and report your findings," Arthur squeezes his shoulder and nods at Gwaine before pushing Merlin gently away. Merlin, bewildered, looks at Gwen who smiles gently. Merlin knows that she has planned this somehow. Maybe they had talked about sending someone to the druids, someone they could trust…He will have a month before he tells Arthur the truth.

"I…I'll find out what I can. I'm sure George will be happy for more work…," he smirks and Arthur chuckles. "Goodbye Arthur."

"Good luck. Bring him back in one piece," Arthur says to Gwaine who smirks and walks after the druids. Merlin inclines his head, smiling weakly and turns away. He never imagined that one day he would be teaming up with the very people the dragon foretold would be Arthur's doom. He thought this would only unfold one way.

He hurries to catch up with Gwaine, unable to keep his eyes off Mordred and Morgana, and for the first time in many years he starts to doubt the ancient voice that has been whispering to him since he was a boy.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_sorry for the wait but hopefully this long chapter will make up for it. Thank you for the replies and to those who have recently followed don't be shy ;)_


	7. Chapter 7

Light filters through her eyelids, shifting from dark to light as a sound rustles in her ears.

_Trees? Or the sea?_

She blinks her eyes open, squinting in the morning light. She expects to see a ring of light in darkness, or if she is lucky, a perfect coin of blue sky but there is neither. Green leaves shiver in a breeze, grey clouds drifting beyond them.

_I suppose I won't have to keep staring up to catch sight of the sky any more. It is always above me now…_

"Good morning," a quiet, deep voice says and Morgana looks to the side. Mordred kneels before her, a camp-fire at his back. Morgana sits up, the waking calm beginning to fade. She tilts her head at him and then reaches up to touch his cheek. He is almost a decade older, a man now but the eyes are the same. She has wished to see those eyes again for years.

"I thought I dreamt it all."

"I'm real," he smiles briefly and then leans closer, his smile dropping. "You're free now and no harm will come to you. I'm sorry, I wish I had known about your incarceration sooner. I failed you," he lowers his head, ashamed and she narrows her eyes.

"What do you have to apologise for? You _never_ have to with me," she whispers fiercely and pushed by a rush of affection she pulls him to her. She had jumped into fire for him and she would do so a thousand times over. Even now, this strange intense feeling she has for him is as mystifying but as strong as ever. She is not his mother but she feels certain the love would be no different if he was.

Over his shoulder a druid camp sits surrounded by hazy sunshine, mist rolling around wagons and tents. The mist conceals them. Magic and mist, they seem to go hand in hand. Mordred takes her hand and helps her stand before leading her through the camp. The druids had been captured some days before, thwarting their attempt to set alight Witch's Fear but a few stayed behind with the wagons.

"It's all gone now, I saw to that," she tells him as they come to a ring of druids sitting before a large fire, cooking breakfast. A little away another fire burns, two people tending to it. A man in a red cloak sits with his back to her but there is no mistaking a knight of Camelot. She comes to a stop as Merlin stands up, Gwaine turning around to look but remains seated. Merlin moves, as if to come to her but then he eyes Mordred and steps back, his face oddly set.

A fizzing feeling ignites in her stomach and an intense urge to go to him makes her breath catch but on the heels of that pull is resistance. He has not come to her and she should follow suit. This is what she wanted, his help until she needed it no more. Merlin's hands fist at his side as she turns away to look at Mordred.

"Where is Aithusa?"

"A day ahead of us. We should catch up with them soon," Mordred's mouth quirks at the corner as she bites her lip. "Don't worry, she is safe. A dragon is a revered creature; they will protect her with their lives."

"I know…I never thought this day would come," she smiles, looking up at the sky again as Mordred sits down next to Kara, who leans immediately against his side but as Morgana sits opposite the younger girl straightens upright, as if ashamed at the show of weakness. She stands when Mordred tries to talk to her, shaking her head angrily and heads towards a tent. Mordred sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"Her magic is gone but she won't believe it. She's been trying all night to produce something but…" he trails off, shaking his head and Morgana feels a pang of pity and the burn of righteous anger. She knows the loss of magic but to have it removed completely would be like living without air. As she is offered a cup of tea she closes her eyes and focuses on the pulsating warmth in her chest. That is her magic and since escaping the hole it grows stronger every day. She opens her eyes and finds Merlin's blue eyes peering at her through the mist.

"I'm surprised that you're here," she says and he smirks, coming closer.

"Me too. Arthur requested that I accompany you for a while."

"To make sure I don't get into any trouble?" she jokes but a crack inside her that was made many years ago bleeds. She had jumped into the fire to protect Mordred and Arthur had jumped with her, trying to help her. With the smoke and mayhem that followed she has no clue what happened next, only that she had been overcome and forced to her knees by the sister. After that darkness.

But now she is free.

"He wanted to make sure you were safe," he says softly, stopping before her, and that bleeding feeling intensifies. She had felt it before, that pain, but she had always been strong enough to wall it off, to rise above it. Now it feels she is wallowing in it. She shakes her head in disbelief and looks at her tea. Merlin bends down, his mouth by her ear.

"The oubliette is gone," he whispers and she feels an instant wave of emotion rising, circling around her throat. She stares into his eyes, swallowing convulsively, trying not to cry odd angry tears. How many times has she wished to reduce that nightmare to nothing?

"I used to dream of burying Sarrum in it, the sister, the whole of Amata," she utters gutturally and Merlin frowns.

"Are you angry?"

"No, I don't know," she catches his wrist before she can stop herself. "I just thought it would be the last thing I would do…but it's a relief to know it's no more. How did you do it?"

In the years since she has known him Merlin has gained some muscle, grown tall but he is still a simple servant. _A servant who tried to kiss me_…_Arthur would laugh himself unconscious_. That warmth trickles down to her stomach and she bends over her tea, feeling her face heat. Merlin blinks and smiles, shrugging when Mordred suddenly speaks up.

"I helped him. I came to Amata to free you, while the others headed to the fields. I used magic to do it. I was captured but Merlin escaped," Mordred explains and Merlin smiles thinly at him before straightening. He moves over to Gwaine and after a moment Mordred follows him. There is a tension between them, especially from Merlin. She watches them talking for a moment before finishing the rest of her tea, staring up at the wide expanse of sky. Soon she will be reunited with Aithusa and her life will truly begin again.

* * *

As the sun arcs through the sky the druids move, sometimes shrouded in mist, other times not. It can be a signal as well as a means of concealment, so they use it sparingly. Kneeling in a wagon with Mordred and Kara she drifts in and out of sleep but tries to stay awake, hungry to know what is happening.

"This is unprecedented, nothing like this migration has happened for many years," Mordred says with some excitement and Kara offers a weak smile. It seems her stage of denial has passed and now she stares into the distance with a hollow gaze.

"To flee Amata?"

"Yes and no. Sarrum is a threat to all with magic, he would spread that weed to all corners of the world if he had the chance. In time he must be dealt with but there are bigger threats to face, one that is gathering a force and threatens those with magic and without."

"He thinks you're gathering an army," a voice says and Morgana turns around in surprise. Merlin rides outside the wagon, having come closer to listen. Gwaine rides behind him, his red cloak flapping in the wind. He often sneers at her before looking away. She expects nothing less. At Merlin's words Mordred looks uncomfortable but Kara straightens, a light in her eyes.

"What if we are?" she asks and Merlin stares hard at her, almost angrily.

"Druids are peaceful," he says defensively and Kara nods.

"A tired phrase and once it would have been true but no more."

"What are you saying?" Morgana's skin tingles, a prelude to something prophetic.

"The druids who stood aside and watched their family and friends die at the hands of lesser men are now old and their influence is fading. They would see us all perish but the orphans who stood helpless are now grown," she speaks quietly, her teeth gritted and her shoulders shake with anger. "We want to rise."

"So you do want war?" Merlin accuses, his anger plain to see now. What right does he have to be angry?

"We want to protect ourselves and this land," Mordred interrupts before Kara can speak. He pats the girl's hand, as if to appease her. Nothing will appease this one but blood.

_It's like looking in a mirror, an old reflection…_

"The druids have every right to defend themselves. They have endured countless outrages and with no recompense." Morgana speaks up, directing it to Merlin, who still frowns. "Does that displease you? Why?"

"I just don't understand. It goes against every principle the druids hold. They cherish balance and peace not violence."

"The world is not balanced and hasn't been for years. Maybe this is the change that has to happen to bring Albion back to equilibrium," Mordred reasons softly, shuffling closer to Merlin. "Over the last few months we've all felt a pull towards the valley, a summons."

"A summons? By who?" Morgana asks. She has felt no such pull but then she has been cut off from magic for almost two years.

"The Disir. They are three priestesses; they act as the mouthpiece of the Goddess. It's their council the elders seek. They will shed light on what is happening."

"So really you have no idea why you're all going there? You could be heading towards a trap," Merlin states and Mordred frowns at him.

"You have much distrust for those with magic. There is so much you don't understand but I hope you'll be willing to learn. You'll see we're not all to be feared or doubted and I think Arthur will believe that if you do," he finishes, staring intensely at Merlin whose eyes bore into Mordred's before he looks aside.

As the wagon crests a hill something white flashes in her eyes. The sea shines in the sun and Amata shines even brighter. At this distance it is tiny and gone in a blink. Strange that something that has kept her contained for so long is now gone so quickly. She inhales and looks back at Merlin. Harsh lines frame his mouth and she senses his fear. Is he thinking of another white castle?

"You think Camelot will be in danger? Don't you think you're being paranoid?"

"Well you have first-hand experience of how the citadel is a target for sorcerers. Pardon me for being cautious," he snaps back sharply but she can see how anxious he is. He cares deeply for the city.

"You see magic as a weapon, an evil but it doesn't have to be," she says and the stern look on his face melts away. He shakes his head.

"You know I don't believe that. Magic can be a force for good but it is also wielded by those with violence in their hearts…"

"As a sword is. It can be used to protect or harm. I just hope there will come a day when we can use magic to heal this land and that can only happen if we all work together," Mordred speaks with a quiet conviction and she is surprised. He should be filled with anger after the hardship he has had to endure but he only strives to make the world better. It is a benevolence she wishes to possess but like Kara a kernel of anger will always burn inside.

Merlin stares at Mordred with the surprise she feels. "I just want Camelot to be safe...If I'm to spend a month on horseback I'd like to know exactly where we're going," he utters irritably like an old man and she can't help laugh.

"Oh I'm sure if you lighten up you can ride up here with us," she mocks and catches Mordred's wide eyed stare but ignores him. It feels good to tease, like an old part of herself is waking up.

"We're heading towards the Crystal Cave and the answers within it. We're not looking for a fight Merlin, we're gathering to protect ourselves and this land from those who wish to take it from us."

"Who?"

"The Saxons."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_So sorry for the long wait. I'll hopefully have the next part up over the weekend, where there will be more Merlin/Morgana._


	8. Chapter 8

"Saxon tribes have banded together under a king named Vortigern. Before they used to raid the coasts to the east but never had the numbers or inclination to go any further. That's changed now."

They stand in a clearing, the trees sheltering them from the rain. Since heading south, the weather has cooled, or so it seems to her. Morgana listens attentively as Mordred explains. For the last few years he has been scouting the land across the sea to the east, on the orders of the druid chieftains, and reporting back his findings. She had heard stories of the Saxons since she was a child, Arthur would tease her about being taken by them if she went out unguarded, as she had the habit to do when she first came to Camelot.

"We have caught a few Saxons on the land but nothing that points to an army. In fact they were civilians, farmers and the like," Gwaine speaks up, frowning. He does not believe Mordred. She eyes Merlin, who has said nothing, and is pleased that he does not look as sceptical.

"Fleeing the destruction," Mordred explains. "Vortigern has united the Saxons but into an army. They have spread through the land, taking everything in their path to aid their war effort."

"They will be no match against Camelot," Merlin says finally, arms crossed over his chest. Morgana wants to remind him of the number of times she has taken the city but thinks better of it. It has been conquered but never for long.

"I hope that is true but in this case we can't leave that up to chance," Mordred smiles briefly and Morgana sees Kara motioning for him. "We will settle here for the night and make for the stones at dawn."

"The stones?" Merlin asks, as they make their way towards the camp. Morgana pushes her hood over her head as the rain begins to fall steadily. Once she could create a shield around her body with magic but she is not strong enough yet.

"A way for us to travel," Morgana explains softly as Merlin nods but looks even more confused. Best not to give him any details, she wants to see the look of awe on his face when they get to the stone circle in the morning.

Now walking side by side she struggles to speak. Once it hurt to look at him, as if her body was pumping venom rather than blood. It took all of her strength not to kill him for what he had done to her but now she feels different. It still hurts but that rage is oddly placid, only sending spikes of fury through her if she thinks on the memories.

_He saved my life, he cared for me…to what end?_

"Do you hate me Merlin?"

He stumbles, slipping to a halt in the mud. She turns to him, pushing her hood down slowly. He stares open mouthed for a moment before he becomes composed, possibly thinking of what to say. There is something calculating about Merlin, something she had not seen before. His big smiles and clumsiness hide a whirling, cunning mind.

"I…I hate what you became. You went away and you came back a completely different person."

"How could I not? I had no idea of the true world, of my place in it. Not until you forced me to see it," she adds in contemplation and he opens his mouth to retort, a sharp inhale of breath before she shakes her head, lifting a hand. "I was burning with anger at what had been done to me, what had been _taken_ from me but I had no idea what that really was until two years ago. I was screaming at nothing, fighting a selfish war." She spins her finger in a circle repeatedly and he stares as if transfixed, his brows drawn together in a deep crease.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I spent years in the dark and I won't waste another breath there. I'm the last priestess and I have a duty to fulfil. I was saved, by _you_ of all people," she laughs hollowly, "to pave a new future, a new way, and I can only do that by leaving the old one behind."

"And what future do you want?" he asks lightly but his eyes are watchful.

"A better one, for people like me, for people like them," she points to the druids who prepare dinner together, giving solemn prayers over the animals they have killed. "I will protect us against any who wish to do us harm. I will not let what happened to me happen to anyone else." If they will not protect themselves then she must, a new vanguard composed of those like Kara and Mordred. Those with magic will live to see a brighter future, a golden age.

Merlin nods, smiling weakly but the hardness in his eyes softens. "I hope it happens…"

"It will."

They reach the camp and hurry towards a large tent where others are sheltered from the rain. Since staying with the druids she had been given a green dress, the hem layered in ragged strands. It is simple but as her feet and legs splatter with mud she wishes she had kept the breeches on. Merlin slips beside her and grabs her shoulder. Morgana throws out her arm for balance, wobbling precariously.

"Merlin!"

"Sorry!" he pauses, staying perfectly still but does not let go of her. Something mischievous glints in his eye. "If I go down…"

"Don't even think it!" she shouts. Her feet are no longer slipping but starting to sink into the mud. Soon it will be up to her shins. Fantastic. Mordred and Gwaine watch them in amusement from the shelter of the tent. "Are you just going to watch or are you going to help?!"

"Sorry, sorry," Mordred mutters and holds out his hand for her with a smile still on his lips. He pulls her and she jerks out of the mud with a squelching noise.

"Disgusting," she sighs, happy to be free and then turns to Merlin. Wet, morose and stuck it takes everything in her not to laugh. She fails.

"Haha. Gwaine, a little help?" Merlin pleads but the knight is chuckling along with Morgana. Merlin narrows his eyes. "You won't be laughing when I starting flinging mud at your face."

"Then you'll be there until it reaches your chin Merlin," Gwaine threatens with a grin before reaching across and pulling the soaking wet servant into the tent. Merlin stumbles and comes to a stop, his shoulders hunched in dismay.

"Mud is very good for your skin, you know," she offers kindly. Merlin nods and suddenly wipes his finger against her cheek before she can stop him.

"Enjoy."

* * *

As night falls she reaches up to her neck as a breeze plays against her bare skin and shivers. "I miss my hair," she grumbles to herself. Cutting her hair had been a necessity but now she regrets it.

"It suits you."

She looks up to see Merlin standing before her. She sits outside the wagon, mind too full for sleep. He is clean now, dressed in spare clothes from the druids. It is an odd sight and he seems uncomfortable in them. Morgana smiles.

"I think I preferred you in mud."

"So did I," he shifts his shoulders and she motions for him to sit. They remain in silence, Morgana staring at him peripherally until he cocks an eyebrow.

"I've been trying to figure you out Merlin. Why do you settle for being a servant? You're clearly more than that."

"What's wrong with being a servant?" he challenges and she wants to argue but pauses. What is wrong with it? Gwen was a servant, she was exemplary at her job, and while Morgana knew what her place was she felt that her friend could and should aspire to more. She did, more so than she could have imagined.

"There's nothing wrong with it…I suppose it just seems…conforming, containing."

"Like being a princess I suppose? We all have roles to play and they all come with certain restrictions. Not even kings are free."

"I know…are you comparing yourself to a king Merlin? What would Arthur say?" she smirks at him and he laughs.

"Probably call me a clotpole. I like being a servant, there's an order to it, a simplicity," he sighs, as if he is carrying the weight of the earth on his shoulders and, for a moment, he looks ancient. Morgana squeezes her eyes shut and opens them. Merlin smiles at her, the corner of his mouth drawn upwards. There is a weight to him, something steady and stable that she feels drawn to. Drawn and resistant. He is a servant but he brims with a quiet assurance. She supposes that is what it means to feel self-fulfilled. She gazes at him, head tilted to the side in contemplation.

"Goodnight Merlin," she whispers as his eyes flick to her lips for a moment. His cheeks start to tinge pink as she climbs into the wagon, pretending that she had not seen.

"Goodnight, my lady."

* * *

The next morning they reach the edge of the forest they have been trekking through and come to the rim of a great plain, wind rippling over tall grasses. The sun is not yet risen but a pale light shines on the horizon.

Morgana lifts her hand and with a crackle fire dances in the palm of her hand. Mordred smiles and leans forward to blow gently against it, muttering something under his breath. The fire blows off her hand and floats in the air, guiding the way. Morgana smiles at him and hooks her arm around his. She feels like she could dance she is so excited. Soon she will be with Aithusa. As they make their way through the tall grass the wagons roll behind, the tents and food safely stored within.

"What's at the stones?" Merlin asks under his breath, walking beside Gwaine. Kara answers him.

"Power. For thousands of years stone circles were built on top of sources of great magic. They crisscross all over this land. We can harness that power in many ways," she explains but then her face falls. Morgana rests her hand on her arm.

"Don't tell him any more, he should just experience it," she orders gently and Kara nods seriously. Since meeting the girl she has snapped to attention at anything Morgana has said. The hunger in her eyes is still fierce, one that Morgana thinks she now understands. "Has your magic…?"

"…No," Kara shakes her head, looking straight ahead with her chin lifted before she glances quickly at Morgana. "You are the last high priestess, the only one…if anyone could help me surely it would be you?"

Morgana stops walking and turns to Kara. "My magic is weak now but even at my full strength I don't know if I could help you. I don't want to give you false hope if I have none to give," she explains bluntly but with sympathy and Kara nods, staring at the ground before looking up again.

"I understand," she smiles weakly. "I have long desired to train, to become one of the Nine, to help you rebuild what was torn down but I suppose I must accept that this is my fate."

Morgana grips her arm and gazes at her fiercely. "You _will_ help me to rebuild and it will be better than it ever was. We will make those who have wronged us pay. I promise," she swears and Kara nods, the light back in her eyes. Together they will be a force to contend with, a beacon of hope to those in despair.

They begin walking again, catching up with Gwaine and Merlin who have stayed behind to wait for them. As they reach them, Gwaine suddenly jerks in his saddle, hand going to his sword. Morgana is on alert at once, crouching in the grass as Gawaine slides to the ground beside Merlin.

"The grass is stirring, someone is coming."

Morgana holds her breath, straining to see through the grass. The sun is beginning to rise but it is still dim. As the grass shudders a faint noise starts, a whining that grows louder, closer.

"Maybe Sarrum's knights took the stones?" Kara whispers.

Mordred shakes his head. "We would have had word."

As the whining turns into panting Morgana suddenly straightens and begins running towards the noise. Merlin chases after her, trying to grab her when something bursts through the grass and knocks them both off their feet.

"Aithusa!"

The white dragon clambers over Morgana, whimpering in happiness as she tries to sit upright. A grin spreads over her face as she gathers the dragon into her arms but Aithusa is so excited that she can't stay still.

"Looks like my dog after I come home," Gwaine notes in amusement as the dragon is overcome with emotion, the sun now shinning over the grass. Morgana, feeling like her heart will burst from joy, finally gets to her feet.

"Except this dog can fly...I think," Merlin adds quizzically, smiling broadly. Morgana nods.

"She could and she will again. Look Aithusa, you have the entire sky to play in now," she kisses the dragon's snout and begins walking towards the stones, where the druids wait. Aithusa, despite her previous excitement, sticks close to Morgana's side, never straying more than a few metres from her.

The stone circle sits atop a low hill that rises over the grass. As they reach it a man with a grey and white beard sees Morgana and drops to one knee.

"High Priestess."

"This is Ruadan. He is a Priest of the Catha," Mordred introduces him as Morgana motions for the man to stand. He is middle aged, more like a gruff solider than a druid but the Catha are different.

"Well met. Thank you for looking after Aithusa."

"It was an honour," he smiles down at the dragon, who peers around with large blue eyes. Morgana wonders how hard it was to get her this far, how scared she must have been. Or maybe she could sense that these people wished her no harm. She hopes so.

"These are the stones?" Merlin comments, drinking from a canister. He is clearly a little disappointed and Morgana has to agree. The stones are waist high, almost lost in the grass.

"What is left of them," Ruadan answers, eyeing Merlin. "Once they stood tall and could be seen for miles, so legends say."

"They still hold power," Mordred adds reassuringly.

"They say the great Emrys himself built this single handedly," Ruadan explains with a wistful air. Ice floods through her blood at the name and she stops breathing. _Emrys_. She used to have nightmares about him even before the oubliette. She would dream of him removing the hatch door only to taunt and laugh at her before replacing it. She has never feared much but that decrepit old man turns her heart to ice.

"Bed time stories," Kara admonishes and Ruadan shrugs good naturedly, slapping a coughing Merlin on the back. He must have swallowed the water down the wrong way.

"How could he have built this a thousand years ago?" Merlin asks, still coughing. Mordred smiles gently.

"The same way he could still build one now: he's immortal."

Morgana rolls her eyes and forces herself to walk to the centre of the stones. The other druids stand by the stones and as she comes to a stop they reach up and take each other's hands, but leave a space for the others to pass.

"Please, everyone gather in the centre," Ruadan instructs. Merlin and Gwaine come to her side, Merlin's eyes flicking in every direction.

"Are you nervous?"

"I feel like a fish in a bowl."

"Try not to jump out," she whispers, enjoying his confusion. As the last wagon rolls within the circle the druids close it. The wind begins to ease and the grass stills as a hush falls over them, a hush so pronounced that she swears she can hear every heartbeat. Magic pulses through the circle, the grass tingling against her feet and the wind seems to whisper in old tongues against her ears.

The druids begin to chant, their eyes closed and Morgana joins in. Her magic is faint but here is reaches out like a sapling towards something great, like the sun is burning before her closed eyes. As the voices casting the spell grow louder Merlin gasps next to her, grabbing her arm and her eyes fly open. The druids' eyes flash gold in the sunlight, their arms lifting upwards and winds whirl around the stones wildly, rags and leaves caught in the gale while the grass around them remain still.

With a cry of exhilaration Morgana bends down and holds Aithusa tightly as the druids, the wagons and everyone within the stones disappears in a rush of wind and light.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_I don't think he was called one of the Catha on the show but for the purpose of this story Ruadan is._

_I like the idea that the druids zip between stone circles like wizards using the floo network teehee._


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin staggers on his feet before bending over his knees. "Oh my head…"

"I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Gwaine groans next to him. Morgana grins even as the world spins around her before coming into focus. The long, rippling grass is gone, replaced by heather covered moorland. The stone circle they find themselves in is much taller but some stones are broken and the wind whistles over them strangely. They are familiar to her but she cannot recall why.

"Where are we?" Merlin asks, coming to her side. He looks a little pale but he has recovered well. Using that spell to travel tests even the strongest stomach.

"The Northern Plains. We should reach the Darkling Wood within a few hours," Ruadan answers before moving over to the wagons to give orders. Aithusa, who has not moved from Morgana's feet, pokes her head out gingerly from under her wing.

"Will she be able to walk?" Merlin asks, motioning to Aithusa's leg. She limps on it, after outgrowing the cuff that used to circle it. As if hearing him and wanting to prove it the white dragon takes few hobbling steps, not showing signs of pain but still she hobbles.

"She did run through the grass to me…I wish she could fly but her wings are not strong enough yet," sunlight shines through the pale skin of her wings. They should be like leather, tough and impenetrable. "She just needs time and peace…"

Merlin nods, looking down at the dragon who sniffs at a clump of heather until he blinks and looks away. Tears are in his eyes, which he fails to hide from her. Morgana tilts her head as her heart surges oddly within her chest. Despite the time they have spent together and Merlin's insistence that he does not wish any more harm to come to Aithusa this is the first time she actually believes he cares for the dragon. Why does not matter, true compassion should have no motives or reason. It just is.

Pretending that she does not see she walks away from the stones, Aithusa following at her side as Merlin trails behind.

* * *

The Darkling Wood, as familiar as they ever have been, hides more than Morgana had known. Judging by the surprised look on Merlin and Gwaine's face at the sight of the druid camp she is not alone. They are an hour away from Camelot, if they were to travel along the main path through the woods but the druids live deep within, shrouded by mist and protected by the deadly Serket. The shiny black armour of the beasts shift in the dark of the trees, making Aithusa spine arch and smoke curl from her nostrils when she catches sight of them.

They stay at the camp for a few days, leaving the wagons there, waiting for other druids to arrive so they can travel together. There is safety in numbers but what will these people do if they are ambushed? Will it be left up to her to protect them? Mordred is powerful, he has been since childhood but she is a High Priestess, it is her duty to shield them, to put an end to any that threaten those with magic. It is something that she should have done many years before.

The night before they are to travel through the White Mountains Morgana sits with Aithusa, who lies with her head out of the tent. The druids sleep but she can hear singing in the distance, a rhythmic chanting that reminds her of the sea and soon it lulls her to sleep.

_Colours blur across her closed eyelids, the sunlight blinding even in the gloom of the sister's chambers. It is the same routine, the same outcome._

_"Do you renounce the old ways?"_

_"No."_

_"If you continue to deny the salvation that I can help you find then your soul will be lost, the filth will consume you. There is still time. Please, I'm only trying to help you Morgana." Her voice, soft and motherly, is sad. Morgana stiffly shakes her head, matted hair waving over her face._

_"Never. Never," her denials, once fierce and lengthy, have reduced to monosyllabic responses. She is too tired to offer more, what is the point? She will die before she gives into this woman._

_Sister Birgit sighs, and moves to sit behind her desk. Her chamber is filled with light and plants, the sweet smell of incense. Morgana finds it overwhelming, hard to breathe because it is so blissfully sweet. Her feet are filthy, her dress rags. Once she had a crown on her head…_

_"You could spend more days above ground Morgana. Bathe more, eat more…and in time, once you see things clearly, you will even have access to magic. It is burden but we must fight fire with fire until the times comes when the ties to magic will be severed for all." she gives a shaky exhalation at the prospect. Sister Birgit does not see herself as a bad person; she genuinely views those with magic as having an affliction, herself included. The land is accursed and she is only fighting to purify it._

_Morgana keeps silent, knowing that whatever she suffers she will not bend to this woman. How easy it would be to accept, to escape the pain and darkness, to pretend that Aithusa does not share her fate…a spear of guilt shoots through her body and her hands curl into fists._

_"Do you wish the beast to eat this month?" the question is light and so quiet she almost misses it. Her heart hammers against her rib cage. My poor Aithusa…_

_"Yes."_

_"Then drink. I will not force you," she offers the cup of Witch's Fear to Morgana, who blinks. The cup contains wine, the weed mixed within. The taste is not unpleasant; in fact there is something addictive about it._

_Morgana lifts a thin hand to dash the cup across the table, catching the sister's eyes before she hesitates. Those eyes are so calm, so still. So cold. Aithusa will suffer even more for her pride and no one but Morgana will care. If she agrees to the sister's wishes she will be a traitor, worse than that but the thing that stops her hand is that Aithusa's fate will be the same whether they share a cell or not. The dragon is a powerful creature of magic and will never be free._

_Morgana picks up the goblet. "…I will drink if you give her meat…and a bigger cell. She is growing too large for it. Even Uther gave the Great Dragon room to fly."_

_The sister just smiles and says nothing. Morgana, not knowing if her wish will be granted, lifts the cup and downs the wine in one gulp. Aithusa is all that matters and she pay whatever price there is to make sure one day the dragon is free._

_Guards come into the chamber as the weed starts to take effect, clouding her mind and numbing her ability to draw on magic. As she is escorted away, her chains heavy and clinking, the sister's voice drifts up behind her._

_"Morgana, you would not have to barter with me for anything if you would just help me to right the wrongs if your past. Let go of this heedless fight and let peace into your heart. I will not give up on you...who else can say the same?"_

_The words ring her mind until she is forced out into the courtyard and the sun blasts down, turning her vision white._

_Peace._

* * *

Merlin finds her early the next morning, watching the sun come up. She stands staring through the trees, her gaze unfocused.

"Good morning," he says, lowering the pack he carries to the ground. He stares at her anxious face and then back at Aithusa, who is lying a few feet away. Blue eyes peer at them calmly.

"Are they ready to go?"

"Almost…what's wrong?" he gazes at her steadily as she finally turns to face him. That night she had been plagued with memories, which then haunted her nightmares. She woke, clinging to Aithusa but a part of her expected to see his concerned face in the dark, as it had been in Amata.

She sighs and sits on a tree stump. "It feels too easy. We escaped with hardly any pursual."

"Well I suppose Sarrum was too busy putting the fires out. Do you think he'll come after you?"

Morgana is quiet for a long time before she answers. "He may but it's not him I'm worried about. The sister spent too much of her time trying to bend me to just let me go. I can feel it," she stares into the distance, her brows drawing together in a thunderous look.

Merlin gazes at the side of her face and then smiles gently. "Maybe she realises you're too unyielding to break."

"She never wanted to break me," Morgana clarifies, looking at him. "She wanted to mould me, to make me like her. I think she had a vision of finding others like herself, creating a sisterhood, like once there was an order of nine high priestesses."

"An inversion," he adds, with some disgust. Morgana nods.

"I tried to block her words, it was nonsense and coming from a place of fear and hatred. Like Uther, like so many afraid of magic but I had to yield to a degree, for Aithusa," she smiles weakly as the dragon lifts her head at the sound of her name.

"That's nothing to be ashamed of, you were just trying to survive." He leans closer, eyes fixed on hers. "You haven't been moulded, not even a little."

"I'm not the same, I know that but I hope that was my doing and mine alone." Morgana stands, forcing her shoulders back. "If she comes for me, I'll be ready."

Merlin stands with a smile. "You're not alone either," he replies and her stomach tightens before she sees he's referring to the druids around them. Confused at the reaction she motions to Aithusa to follow her, who is sniffing Merlin's feet. He bends down and lightly strokes her head before she scampers to Morgana.

"She seems to like you. Everyone else she runs from."

Merlin says nothing, just shrugs. If Aithusa trusts Merlin than the hesitance and doubt within Morgana seems misplaced. Their past is filled with violence and pain and sometimes it feels like it had been nothing else but that is not true. Once it was good and it feels that they are coming back around to that now. Aithusa is young but she is a dragon and her judgement is not to be dismissed. As Merlin shoulders his pack, fiddling with the straps, Morgana quickly straightens them before he can attempt to. She leaves him blinking after her with an odd smile.

* * *

"I have a bad feeling," Gwaine says irritably as they reach the mouth of the Valley. The White Mountains lie at their backs, the journey without much mishap aside from falling rocks and startled goats. The band looks up at the entrance. Ancient kings are carved from the body of the Valley, impressive, daunting but ultimately protective. The are meant to strike fear into those who wish to defile the sacred land beyond. They will travel toward the river that cuts through the centre of the valley. At least she assumes they will.

"Nothing good ever comes from this place," Merlin says, staring upwards with his mouth down turned. Morgana rolls her eyes.

"Well I'm happy to be back. I used to live there."

"I recall," Merlin says dryly and the image of him chained up in her hovel flashes into her mind. She stares at him and where once she would have felt nothing but a sick pleasure she just feels somewhat queasy. However, she does remember the pride with which he viewed her diminished state all those years ago.

"Yes I remember how happy you were at the state of my little home. I think the word you used was accomplished?"

"You chained me up and stuck a snake in my neck," he retorts as they start to move into the valley. Mordred walks behind them, casting bewildered looks back and forth.

"I did heal you," she offers and then smirks. "I think you enjoyed that."

"I…what?" he laughs. "I was…relieved, that's all. You clearly have skills at healing," he adds more tactfully and Morgana feels a warmth spreading through her.

"Visions were always my strongest ability but I enjoyed learning the more medicinal side of magic. I never really got to practice…"

"The druids are very skilled at medicine, even without the aid of magic. I'm sure you'll learn even more there," Mordred offers and Morgana turn to him with a smile. The prospect of being in a community that fosters magical knowledge and acceptance is exhilarating. What she will discover, what innovations and old secrets that will benefit them all in the days to come…

With these dreams clouding her mind Morgana does not sense that there is something wrong until she bumps into Gwaine's back, who has stopped suddenly. He lifts a fist and then crouches down. Everyone gets to their knees, staring up at the narrow strip of cloudy sky above them.

"What is it?" Merlin whispers.

"We're being followed."

Morgana inhales and looks through the rocky fissures and trees more thoroughly. At the corner of her eye she catches a flash of red and then the druids are running, ignoring Gwaine's shouts to stop as the rocks above them fill with the crimson clad knights of the round table, their armour flashing in the sunshine. An intense fear of being confined closes in on her and then a fire of denial. They will not catch her!

"No! Stop!" Merlin yells up at the knights, waving his arms and narrowly misses being shot with an arrow.

"Why are they firing at us?" Mordred hisses, trying to protect Kara who elbows him away and lifts a weapon at the knights above, her face a snarling mask. She is without magic but not powerless. The bolt flies through the air but thuds into a tree.

"We're not in a position to fight!" Morgana says and pulls the girl after her as Aithusa races up the path, going as fast as she can. She can't take them on but she can hold them off, to give them time. As they reach a bend in the valley, which gets steadily narrower, Morgana stops and spins around.

"What are you doing?" Merlin yells as Mordred pushes Kara towards a crest in the path ahead.

"Go! I can delay them so the others can get to safety!"

"They're not going to fire at me! You on the other hand…" he growls, showing his teeth and then pushes her back hard before running out of sight, toward the knights.

"Merlin! Merlin! Don't be stupid, you're dressed like a druid! Merlin!" she screams after him as he chases after Gwaine who has stayed behind. Whimpering at her feet draws her gaze down and finds Aithusa frightened eyes looking up at her.

"Morgana! You must move!" Mordred yells from the top of the ridge, his eyes flashing gold.

"Go! Protect the rest, I'll keep them at bay!"

Mordred stares at her fiercely for a moment before nodding and running out of sight. He has faith in her, in the power she wields and she will not let him down.

"Don't worry Aithusa, no harm will come to you."

Morgana's system is almost clear of Witch's Fear and her magic is strong enough so she can cast a powerful spell that will remove the knights from the woods, make them wander in a state of confusion for a few hours. Smiling she lifts her hand, inhaling and taps into that magic that beats in her chest, a source of power that has been denied to her for years.

Burning the fields in Amata had required very little magic to accomplish. A spark and the wind had taken care of the rest. The surge of magic that begins to channel through her is exhilarating at first, a rush of power and heat that makes her bones ache blissfully but then a wave of nausea crests over that and she staggers, starting to gag.

_Magic is filthy._

Fighting against the wave of pollution that suddenly consumes her she rests a hand against the rock face, breathing through her mouth as Aithusa whimpers loudly.

"It …it's okay, it's okay. I – I - Oh goddess!" she presses the back of her hand to her lips, watching the mouth of the valley for Merlin but he does not come. Through the panic and fear she feels a stab of unease that builds quite painfully until she's breathing rapidly. Darkness edges her vision and she instinctively pulls on more magic to protect herself against the odd attack she is experiencing. She bends over and heaves, her mind whirling into a frenzied nothingness as the tainted magic floods through her body and mind.

"Morgana!"

The sound of Merlin's voice cuts through the dizziness and she feels an overwhelming relief at the touch of his hands. He steadies her and looks into her eyes. The wave of sickness starts to pass but she stumbles.

"I – I thought you were gone."

"Why are you still here?! Run!" His face is cut and there is blood soaking his arm but before she can open her mouth he's yelling at Aithusa and they are running. Merlin drags her with him as the world spins and topples around her and then there is nothing.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_Uh oh, something ain't right..._


	10. Chapter 10

"Morgana! Come on!"

At the sound of Merlin's voice and the violent tugs shooting through her arm Morgana snaps her eyes open. Merlin is dragging her towards an ivy-covered wall and if he keeps going, they are going to smack right into it. She's about to pull back when Mordred's face peaks out from the leaves and yells at them to hurry. Merlin's arm around her waist and her mind whirling sickly Morgana cranes her head back to check if Aithusa is following them.

"Stop!" she yells, untangling herself from Merlin. The white dragon hides between two rocks, shaking and moaning. The attack has greatly frightened her. Morgana moves forward as Merlin grabs her wrist, Mordred beckoning at them hurriedly.

"The door is only open for a short time! The Serket are coming to guard it! Hurry!"

"Morgana!"

"Wait! Aithusa, everything is okay. Just come to me, that's it," Morgana bends down, Merlin's hand still wrapped around her wrist. She extends her fingers, speaking softly and the dragon sniffs the air, eyes wide and roving. Mordred curses and disappears from sight.

"You heard Mordred, we have to go."

"Not without her," she answers sharply. She does not care what is beyond the ivy or what those nightmarish scorpions will do to her. She will burn everything in her path if they threaten Aithusa, set the very forest ablaze if she must.

_They will take her away from me!_

"Aithusa! Aithusa come now!" she yells as Merlin yanks her back.

"NOW!" Merlin roars in panic and as if someone has shoved the dragon Aithusa comes speeding forward, her eyes just as scared, maybe even more so. In a white blur she disappears through the ivy and Merlin and Morgana follow close behind.

Morgana has the sensation of passing through something malleable, something thick that could fling her back but then the force is gone and she's on her knees and pulling Aithusa to her. So caught up in the roaring panic and relief Morgana does not see where she is until she looks up.

Before her is a wide stone road, the paving cracked and weed infested, giving the impression that it has not been tended to for many years. On the road are druids, hundreds and hundreds of druids. Morgana lifts her eyes, following the road and the shifting mass of hooded figures upwards until she's staring at an impossible sight.

A city, choked with ivy and trees, rolls down towards the valley and the river. Buildings seem to merge with the trees, an infusion that can only be an act of magic. Swing bridges connect between the trees and buildings, a massive web of connectivity. It is a city of air and rock, a city to revile any on earth.

"Are – are you seeing this?" Merlin asks faintly and Morgana nods, unable to form words. How could such a beautiful place be only a few leagues away and no one know about it? How has _she_ not known about it? As these questions populate more Merlin helps her to stand, both unable to look away from the sight before them. Morgana only realises that Mordred is before her when she feels his hand on her arm. He grins broadly.

"I was hoping you would be impressed."

"What is this place? Is it a druid city?"

"No, not really. We've just claimed it. It's so old that it's name is lost. We just call it the City. Millennia ago, when the Old Religion was strong and magic was an accepted part of life this was a place for those people to live. They say that there were feats of magic performed that would amaze us but it's all lost now. Over time it was abandoned, the druids began leading a more nomadic life…this belonged to our forebears but now it belongs to everyone with magic, well anyone with good intentions…" he speaks in an excited rush, clearly passionate about the subject. "During the Purge druids came here for refuge but there are many who do not know about it. I fear without this place most of us would have been wiped out. This is where I grew up, where I met Kara," Mordred smiles wistfully. Morgana feels a pang of jealousy. How different her life would have been if she had been born into a different family. If her mother had never met Uther Pendragon.

"That's why it's a secret…is that why you never spoke, the first time you came to Camelot?" Merlin asks Mordred.

"Yes. I was forbidden to talk to any outsiders, not even to share my name, not without permission. I had knowledge that could be dangerous in the wrong hands…" he answers, looking back up the road, his eyes moving over Merlin.

"Seems a lot of responsibility for a child… " Merlin utters, his fingers brushing over a triskelion symbol carved around a doorway. Not a temple but someone's home. Once in this city the worship of the goddess was part and parcel of everyday life. Now it lies half forgotten, it's buildings left to the mercy of nature. It reminds Morgana of the Isle of the Blessed, which is only a boat ride down the river. Both can be salvaged to their former glory, both populated again.

"It's wonderful," she breathes. Aithusa, though still hunched and head low to the ground, looks calmer. Morgana begins following Mordred along the road, Merlin at her side. His cheek is bleeding and his sleeve bloody. He catches her eye and lifts a hand to his face.

"Yeah, they eventually realised who I was but then those scorpions showed up. Gwaine stayed behind, to find out what is happening." He looks at her thoughtfully as she weaves slightly on her feet. "Are you all right? You blacked out for a moment back there."

"I…" she hesitates, not knowing what to say because she has no idea _what_ happened. Either way Merlin cannot help her. She shrugs, clearing her throat. "I'm fine, just a little light-headed. Anyway, you're the one that's bleeding. You should be seen to," she orders and then is about to offer her services and stops. Bad idea.

"I'll be okay. I've learned a few things over the years." Merlin smirks and winces.

"Suit yourself," she shrugs and walks on ahead, leaving Merlin to stare at the buildings.

The road splits into three paths, the largest heading down into the city. From this vantage point there seems to be some kind of sunken amphitheatre, where druids are already taking their seats. Ivy covered arches ring the top of the arena, many crumbling. Heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension she follows Mordred and takes a seat with him and Ruadan, who claps the younger man on the shoulder. At the centre of the arena a huge oak tree grows, with a high back chair craved into it, like a throne. A man with greying hair stands before it, his expression serene. No one sits on the throne.

"That is Iseldir, druid chieftain," Mordred explains quietly. Morgana nods, looking around and realises that Merlin is not next to her and neither is Aithusa. She stands and walks through one of the ivy covered arches and finds them just outside, Merlin bent down and patting Aithusa's head.

"I think all the people scare her," he says quietly, getting to his feet. "I'll stay with her, you should be part of that," he motions towards the archway and Morgana hesitates. She does want to be in there, listening to what they have to say, being part of history but since falling ill after drawing on magic she feels unsettled.

"Don't...just don't wander off," she orders and he smirks.

"I don't think she will move from this spot until you come for her."

"She followed your command, back at the doorway," she narrows her eyes at him as he shrugs nonchalantly.

"I guess two voices shouting at her was the push she needed. I think she's just used to me now. Don't worry Morgana, I'm not going to steal your dragon. Am I Aithusa?"

The dragon looks up and then shakes her head primly from side to side. Laughter bursts from Morgana's mouth and she bends down to kiss her white snout. For a moment the anxiety in the pit of her stomach is forgotten until she moves back through the arches and sees that the seats are almost full now. There must be a thousand druids here, a number she didn't think possible, not after the Purge.

As a golden bowl of incense is lit and a band of elders link hands around the tree singing begins to fill the arena, a deep and rolling chant that makes the hair stand on her arms and nape. It is a prayer, one that she has uttered often but never has she heard it coming from so many mouths. She looks back and sees Merlin leaning against the archway, listening. When it is over a serene blanket seems to settle over her, calming her fears.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters," Iseldir greets them warmly. His voice, though low carries around the arena. Either through magic or through the acoustics of the building she's not sure. Iseldir walks around the circle slowly. "You like me have felt the call to this place, a summons through our dreams and visions. Not for centuries has this happened so I do not have to labour the point that this moment is unprecedented. We are in grave danger."

"From who?"

"We are always in danger!"

Voices shout out and are met with a rumble of agreement or dissent. While most of the druids are benignly serene but tired there is a current of unrest flashing through the crowd and it does not surprise her that the youngest faces are the most troubled and angry. Iseldir says nothing, just waits for silence to fall before speaking again.

"This land was once in balance and we maintained that but such days are gone. Magic is seen by many as an evil, something to be eradicated and some will stop at nothing to make that future happen. This is already happening and if we do nothing magic will be severed from us."

The druids shake their heads, muttering darkly.

"They fear us because that is the poison that has been poured into their ears. They know nothing of us or our way of life because we are too concerned with staying in the shadows! My magic is gone and it is like being without air, without seeing the sun and I will stop at nothing to ensure it does not happen to another person! The time for running and hiding is over!" Kara stands and others clap, shouting in agreement.

"Sarrum wants to spread his wretched weed to all corners of the earth. I will not let a seed into this region if I can help it," Ruadan answers and is met with more cheers. Morgana nods along with them as another elder stands.

"We will try to stop it but what of the rulers of Albion? What can we do to stop them giving it to their citizens if it becomes law? Thirty years ago a king of Camelot made it his mission to wipe us out and I fear it is not over or ever will be," a druid says, coming forward and Morgana feels like she has been punched in the stomach. It is Aglain, a man she thought long dead. She stands, begins speaking before she has time to think.

"I do not think Arthur will follow the same path as Uther but if he is foolish enough to we will stop him."

"_We_? And what gives you the confidence to say such a thing?" Aglain asks, his mouth thinning at the sight of her.

"I…I have none. You remember me?"

"I do. I remember a scared young girl running away from home. I remember someone with light and goodness in their heart. I remember her but I do not know what you are."

"I'm the last High Priestess!" she answers boldly, to mutters from the druids.

"You are a stain upon this land. Everywhere you have gone you have spread war and bloodshed. We talk as if the fears of the people are unfunded. They have plenty to fear when magic is used to torment and overthrow them." He points at her and the druids stare at her like some grotesque.

"I was only trying to claim what was mine," she argues but her heart is not in it.

"What is a throne to a priestess? You are a servant of the Goddess," he retorts and Morgana seats weakly. Mordred shakes his head, taking her hand.

"Do not be so harsh to judge. Yes she has done terrible things and she has been punished for them in ways you cannot imagine. I believe she has changed, I believe that the compassion that was in her heart is there still. She can right the wrongs that were done."

Morgana stares at her lap, listening to Mordred's loyal words and her heart swells so much it will burst. She looks up, shaking her head.

"I don't know if I can right the wrongs of my past, they are what they are and cannot be undone. I can only go forward, knowing that my path is a righteous one. I was selfish before, blinded by hate. I see clearly now and all I want is to protect those with magic. I want to help, it is my only purpose in life…but I will leave if I am not wanted."

She stands up, Mordred grabbing her hand as Iseldir steps forward. "Please sit. Everyone is welcome here," he adds, casting a quick glance at Aglain who sits down. Whatever anger he holds is a long burning thing and will not be so easily put out.

"Thank you. I know the danger that could sweep over this land and I will put in every effort to fight it."

At this clapping echoes through the arches and she feels a little better. Iseldir nods and looks into the fire for a while until the noise quietens. Finally he looks up, over their heads. "Once we were a wall facing the fearful enemy, passive but strong in numbers but we could not withstand. We must do more than stand together to survive this king from over the sea."

"Vortigern?" Morgana asks.

"Yes. He is more dangerous than Sarrum, who seeks to create partnerships with the rulers of this land in exchange for money and influence. Arthur Pendragon would likely agree to distribute the weed, a quiet smothering of magic rather than having more blood on his hands. If he does he will be defenceless again Vortigern, which will in turn drench the entire land in blood anyway. Ironic, really."

"What do you mean?"

Morgana turns and finds Merlin standing at the top of the arena. His fists clench and he breathes quickly. Iseldir inclines his head and the elders duck to whisper to each other. The druids around the arena look at Merlin in confusion.

"Who is this?" some ask.

"My – my name is Merlin. I'm here on behalf of King Arthur."

"And no more?" Iseldir asks, his eyes sad for reasons she cannot guess. Merlin shakes his head stiffly. Mordred sighs softly next to her, shifting in his seat.

"I'm just a servant…well more his advisor. I will relay what is discussed here. What risk does Vortigern pose?"

"He gathers a force that will defeat every army this land has to offer, even the mighty knights of Camelot. He has warlocks fighting for him and swords are nothing against their sorcery."

At this proclamation shocked gasps pass through the arena, which then turns into angry rumblings until the druids, the peaceful, quiet druids are shouting in outrage. Morgana sits and watches them arguing with each other and feels queasy. Mordred said that they are imbalanced and she is witnessing it. Should it make her feel sick? Maybe a little shouting and shaking is what they need.

"We're not warriors!" someone shouts and others agree. Iseldir nods, hands raised for silence.

"It's true, we are not…but there are those amongst us who are. Vortigern wants to attack Albion, take it for his own and he has sided with dark forces because they wish to take _this_ from us," he spreads his arms. "It is a joining of mutual benefit."

"So we protect the valley and the Isle. What should we care for the lands beyond? They would happily see us die and you want us to protect them?" Kara shouts, red in the face.

Iseldir smiles sadly. "What do you think will happen if we fortify this place, if all druids withdraw here and shunned the world?"

"You'll become forgotten, until the dust settles," Merlin says quietly and the hubbub dies down at the sound of his voice. "If what you say is true and these warlocks use magic to defeat the armies of Albion then nothing will stand in their way to this place. No one will come to your aid because no one will be left."

"Merlin is right," Mordred says, breaking the strange hush that has settled at this almost prophetic statement. "We will be stronger together. I – I will go to Camelot with Merlin. Arthur needs those with magic fighting for him and in time those here who wish to take up arms, learn to fight, can learn. I believe he is an honourable man, I believe he will listen to reason."

At this the druids speak amongst themselves, the elders standing in a circle, their backs to those seated. Morgana turns to Mordred.

"Why would these warlocks fight alongside this king? I heard that the Saxons detest magic as much as Uther did."

Mordred shrugs. "It has been quiet there for a long time. During my visits I saw bands of people using magic, by reports on Vortigern's orders. I asked who I could and they attested the same. They must have come to the same conclusion we should have years ago: we're a stronger force together."

Morgana nods but something does not feel right. She looks back at the elders, who are now looking around. She stands suddenly, propelled by an idea.

"I agree with Mordred, we should learn to fight, to protect ourselves but we – I – can do more. In days gone people looked to the Nine to protect them. I am the only one left but I know there must be women amongst you who wish to become initiated, to take the vows. There is a wealth of knowledge there but no one to share it with. Together we can rebuild the Isle of the Blessed, grow in number and when the time comes you will not stand alone."

The elders gaze at her calmly, even Aglain looks pacified. Iseldir inclines his head. "We thank you High Priestess. Those who wish to go to the Isle are free to do so. Maybe a day can be arranged for those with questions to come to you?"

Morgana nods enthusiastically, sitting down weakly. This is all she wants, all her sister ever wanted, the isle filled with women again, the halls flowing with spells and laughter. Heart pounding she smiles at Mordred who takes her hand again.

"I'm all for the old ways seeing the light of day again, for us to stand for what is right but it will take years for us to be a force to contend with. No offence but I don't think a quarter of you has even uttered a spell to squat a fly let alone picked up a sword," Ruadan says and the druids laugh. Morgana assumes he must be an odd man out, a druid but a warrior.

"If only the blessed Emrys were here!" an old man says and the druids chuckle. Once again, at the sound of his name Morgana stiffens.

"You speak of Emrys as if he is a hero?" she says in confusion and Aglain answers her.

"He is. Legends say that he was the most powerful wizard alive. His soul is bound to the silver wheel, his very title means immortal. The prophecies say he will return in our greatest hour of need. "

"Rubbish," Kara mutters and then more loudly. "If that were the case where was he thirty years ago? Where is he now?! He is a figment that we tell our children so they can sleep more soundly at night. He does not exist and never will."

"…But he does," Morgana says weakly, looking directly at the elders. "I have seen him, fought him. He is an old man, a crazy old man who looks harmless but…he is unbelievably powerful."

_And her doom…_Morgana looks down, swallowing convulsively. Is the sickness that consumed her before his doing? Is that her doom?

"Whether he lives or not he has not lifted a finger to help us. We must turn to each other," Kara says and Morgana nods. Legendary wizard or not she will die before she sides with him.

"To each other and those willing to join with us," Mordred reminds her, nodding at Iseldir, who has been silent.

"There is much to think on so I call this council to a close. This is not an easy choice to make or without peril but I fear the alternative only ends one way. We will regroup in three weeks, when we will seek the council of the Disir, who speak for the Goddess."

At this the druids begin to leave but many remain, talking amongst themselves. Morgana stands, stretching and looks through the arch for Merlin and finds him gone.

"Merlin?"

Panic strikes through her but after leaving the shadow of the arena she finds him standing by a wall, looking over a ravine. Aithusa sits on the wall, which surprises her. Seeing Morgana the dragon sits up and makes a crooning noise.

"Sorry, she wanted to see the river," he says, leaning over and Morgana does the same. A rushing river, a hundred feet down or more rushes along the ravine walls. It must join the valley further down. Merlin sighs and she watches him until his gaze loses focus. Morgana smirks.

"You're thinking about Camelot, about going back."

Merlin casts her a quick glance. "My place is there…and Arthur has to be told."

"He won't be back from Amata yet."

Merlin's eyes narrow mischievously. "Are trying to get me to stay?"

"There you go again with those presumptions. You really think too highly of yourself," she smirks, tickling her fingers along Aithusa's back. "So far they haven't made a decision. Aren't you curious to see what it will be?"

"I suppose..." he hesitates, looking unconvinced and Morgana shakes her head, her stomach squeezing.

"You're worried that they will agree aren't you? That you'll have all these people with magic willing to fight for their freedom right on your doorstep!"

"That's not what I was thinking!" he retorts, looking at her hard. "If what they're saying is true then forming an alliance is the reasonable thing to do but…"

"But what?"

"But that won't erase all these years of mistrust and fear that has been bred into the people. Camelot has only known suffering because of sorcery. How will they react to suddenly having those with magic around them?"

"Gratefully I'd hope! They're not the ones who have been oppressed and forced to live in hiding in fear of their lives and yet those very people want to protect them! I'd say they have to stop being sheep and consider that we're people like them. If that doesn't work then Arthur can sway them if he's as open to this as Mordred seems to believe."

Morgana breathes heavily and Merlin gazes at her steadily, the corner of his mouth quirked. It is a look she has seen before and one that gives her the same flush of feeling.

"Don't look at me like that."

"I'm not," he says but this time he does not look away, smiling more broadly. "You're right, I should stay. Arthur did say to spend a month here so…"

"So it looks like you're stuck with me again. Separate rooms this time I assume?"

"And you won't have to pretend to be my wife."

"Thank the goddess for small mercies," she smiles, eyes hot and he shrugs and scratches at the side of his face. The blood is gone but a thin red line crosses his cheek.

"Goodnight Morgana. Sleep well…"

"And you," Morgana inclines her head and walks back towards the arena. She has no idea where she is to sleep, Mordred will likely know. As she reaches the ivy draped archway she realises that Aithusa is not by her side. She turns, calling her name and the white dragon looks at Merlin and back at her.

"Come Aithusa, it's getting late my love," she says softly, holding her hand out. For a horrible heart crushing moment she thinks that Aithusa will not come to her but as Merlin looks back at the river, his head tilting, the dragon jumps down from the wall and runs to her, tail swishing along the grass. Morgana smiles, staring down at Aithusa who looks up at her, blinking innocently.

"I hope you're not playing favourites. You know he's an idiot don't you?"

Aithusa carries on blinking and Morgana yawns into her hand. All she wants is a warm bed and the comfort of sleep. The next few weeks should prove…interesting.


	11. Chapter 11

The druids, nomadic and used to sleeping under trees, make camp along the main road rather than take up residence in one of the numerous houses that ring the city. They will move on in time, that is their way, but as Morgana explores she feels an ever increasing excitement. This city can be teeming with people, people with magic. There could be schools, business and worship all within this secret place. But for that to happen it would not remain secret for long. Or safe.

_Maybe that is what happened to the people who once lived here, forced to flee and abandon this place but not before protecting it…_

Morgana ponders this as she searches the largest building within the city, which is laid out in rings. Small houses edge the outermost circle, the forest encroaching on them, the second circle seems to have been for business and entertainment, having found ivy covered squares and large empty markets. The inner circle consist of large stone houses, schools and at the very centre a massive, sturdy white tower, covered in ivy. Trees grow everywhere and as she had noted from a distance they enhance the architecture, growing in and amongst it. Balance.

The castle overlooks the river and as she reaches a banister and peers down she sees windows and balconies, even fountains. The castle flows down, built into the very rock face. It is beautiful and completely empty. It reminds her of Amata, a neatly laid out city but this place is benevolent and weaved with magic, the very essence of it mixed into the mortar between each stone. It should be a crumbling ruin but the magic used to create it sustains. Whoever built this place was incredibly powerful.

"Who lived here…?" she whispers to herself, brushing her fingertips along the marble stone before turning. Aithusa stands up on her back legs for a moment, clearly excited and then runs down a long corridor. Morgana smiles and gives chase. It has been two days since they arrived in the city and the dragon seems to be increasing in confidence hourly. Does she sense the magic in this place? Does it soothe her? If it does then she will make sure Aithusa has a home here, for as long as possible.

"Where are you going?" Morgana runs up a flight of steps and turns a corner to see Aithusa disappearing through a doorway. It is a game of hide and seek? She remembers when she and Arthur would play this, only this time there will be no trouble for knocking over some travelling diplomat. Breathless but smiling Morgana steps into the room and slows, squinting her eyes.

The room is long and dim, the windows so dirty and choked with ivy that only speckles of sunlight shine through. The room is lined with rows upon row of bookcases, so many that they got lost in the gloom. Mouth open she moves forward, looking at a row of bookshelves to her left, more than Morgana has ever seen. She thought her collection to be respectable but this is astounding. Hundreds, possible thousands. Not even Camelot can boast such a collection and she remembers getting lost once in that labyrinth.

"Impressive, isn't it?"

A quiet voice asks and Morgana sees Merlin sitting by a table under a window, a book open before him. A candle flutters next to the book, giving him a enough light to read by. She had not even noticed his presence. He is very good at that, making himself known only when it suits him, it shows the hallmarks of a good servant. She nods, eyes drawn back to the books as she slowly moves to him. She smirks.

"I think old Monmouth would die of bliss if he saw this."

"Ha! Right on the spot. I can't believe how well preserved it is and how _old_ some of them are. I suspect some books were stored here for safe keeping during the Purge. Look at this, the pictures _move_," he taps the book before him and Morgana comes closer and looks down. A picture of a wingless dragon wiggles around the page margin as Merlin touches it with his thumb.

"It's magic. Think of the innovations these people must have been able to create without limitations…and all that we have lost through fear and ignorance," she adds bitterly.

"Well even if it wasn't lost I can't read it," he pushes the book away and Morgana looks down again. He's right, it is written in a language she has never seen. She looks back up at the shelves.

"They must contain so much knowledge, there must be tomes that are readable or a way to decipher those that are not," she bites her lower lip, excited. She will take a room in the castle and read as many of these as possible. Maybe they will answer what is ailing her…

"Well if you do find one readable let me know," Merlin sighs, standing. Morgana cocks an eyebrow.

"I little spell book reading before bed?"

"I need _something_ to occupy me while I'm here."

"A book on the exploits of poor harassed servants perhaps? Maybe you should write your memoirs," she narrows her eyes at him playfully and he smirks at her before turning to look at Aithusa. The dragon has been quiet for a long time and Morgana sees that she's staring transfixed out of a broken window. Merlin pulls the ivy aside and looks up.

A mummeration of starlings swoop through the sunset sky, a great billowing cloud that shifts and dilutes effortlessly. It is beautiful but as Morgana looks down at Aithusa she feels a deep pang of sadness.

"I almost wish that she had forgotten the sensation but she must remember. Must miss it."

"Once you've felt it I don't think you ever forget…"

Morgana stares at his upturned face, which is oddly wistful, and smiles gently. "You speak as if you know."

Merlin looks down, smiling awkwardly and shrugs. "I dream of it sometimes...when I was a boy I would have nights where I would dream of nothing else. I used to collect feathers, keep them in my pockets until they were bursting. I thought if I had enough I would be blown away on the next breeze…"

"And what happened?"

"I climbed the biggest tree in my village, completely covered in feathers and trusted that the wind would carry me. I spread out my arms, took a deep breath and believed," he says, doing it, closing his eyes and tilting forward on his tiptoes.

"What happened?"

"Broke my arm and had this huge bump on my head for days," he laughs, lowering his arms as she shakes her head with a smile.

"Is that why you're called Merlin?"

"My mother must have known," he smiles softly, looking back up at the starlings. "Before I hit the ground, for a few seconds, I think it worked so it was worth the pain."

Morgana laughs and bends down beside Aithusa. "Shall I make you a coat of feathers?" she whispers and Aithusa looks at her, blinking before flapping her wings a few times. Merlin hums in consideration.

"Starlings have others to fly with but she's one of the last dragons. I think she just needs encouragement," he bends down beside Morgana who looks at him sceptically.

"Teach her?"

"Why not? I need to do something while I'm here. You have your priestess duties to deal with, I'll come to any important meetings to keep Arthur updated but that won't happen every day. I have until the next full moon," he nods, looking enthused and determined but Morgana does not feel so persuaded.

"She hasn't flown in almost two years, her leg is injured…I – I don't want any more harm to come to her," she struggles to voice it.

Merlin looks at her gently. "She'll be okay. I know she's been through something awful, something I wish had never happened…but she's alive and she seems happier every day. You both do," he adds and Morgana nods. It is the truth but for all the peace that she feels there will always be a pit inside her, a void and it is one she tries everyday not to fall into. She may one day but she won't drag anyone else with her.

"You're right; she belongs up in the air, with nothing to keep her bound. We'll both help her to fly again."

"But I'll be the first to succeed, I'll name a chapter in my memoir about it," he claims arrogantly and she hoots.

"Is that so? You seem very sure of yourself Merlin. As you've told me you don't have the best track record with flying…" she stands, mouth pursed in mischief and leaves him to smile behind her, Aithusa making a chirping noise in goodbye as she waddles beside her.

* * *

A week passes, days filled with exploring the city, meeting with enquiring women about joining her at the Isle of the Blessed. In the old days those who showed potential were taken to the isle at a young age. There they would rise through the ranks from initiate to Priestess but you had to be very powerful to be one of the Nine High Priestesses. There may never be another to share her title but she never thought she would have the chance to search.

Every morning, after breakfast, she sits within a tent, waits for those curious, and brave enough to approach her. Most look upon her with the serene, benevolent smile that she expects form the druids but others hover by the door, ready to jump out as if they expect her to curse them.

_What else should I expect? Once I may have…_

Pulling away from dark thoughts and memories, she focuses on Aithusa, who is perched on a low branch of a tree. At least she is getting somewhere with the ladies of the camp, the same cannot be said for the white dragon.

"You can do it!" Morgana encourages, arms outstretched. Aithusa had climbed a rock and gingerly lunged across into the tree. Now she is stuck, like an oversized cat too nervous to move. Morgana sighs, arms growing stiff. She could use magic to help her down and she should be able to without mishap but the thought of trying makes her stomach tighten in dread.

_What if using it makes it worse? Like consuming spoiled food…_

She had tried to channel magic in the days gone by and the larger the spell, the sicker she felt. She feels assured now that the Sister must have done something to her. Maybe after such a long exposure to the weed this is the result…

"They must have hollow bones."

Morgana looks up. Merlin stands on top of the rock, directly across from Aithusa. She had not heard or seen him approach.

"Like a bird…that was clearly your problem Merlin," she jokes and he nods, sighing before he reaches out his hand to Aithusa and speaks quietly. The dragon blinks at him, smoke curling from her nostrils and with a rather undignified jump she lands next to the servant. Morgana claps once, smiling as the dragon wastes no time scrabbling down from the rock and comes to her side. Merlin jumps down, deep in thought.

"She needs a reason to fly…"

"Like what?"

"Food? Enjoyment? Escape?" he ponders and the last word sends a chill up her back.

"Nothing that makes her uncomfortable," she utters sternly, moving quickly through the trees towards the tower. It is a path that she has just discovered today and as they reach a fork in the road Merlin stops, wavering on his feet.

"Oh…"

"What is it?" she frowns. Merlin stares transfixed down the other path, blinking rapidly.

"I…it's nothing. I just thought I…"

"What?"

"Look at the ground," he instructs and she peers at their feet. The path is set with moss covered pebbles but as she moves a few glint in the sun. As she looks up she sees more flashes along the path.

"Crystal?"

"Looks like it," he whispers but does not move, his gaze troubled. Morgana moves purposely along it, intrigued, Aithusa by her side. A tingle plays over her skin the further she gets, until it feels like the stones under her feet are pulsing. Magic, and very powerful. Fallen trees block the path and she climbs over them with difficulty, pulling up her skirts. But as she reaches the top trunk she pauses, breathless.

Huge shafts of crystal thrust up out of the ground into the sky, forming a circle. In the centre a tin bowl sits atop a stone plinth, water reflecting the blue sky above. Inhaling in wonder she jumps down, leaving Aithusa behind. The crystals are free of ivy, gleaming in the sun as if freshly polished. They seem to hum and as she holds her breath, she hears a soft murmuring.

"Incredible," she whispers, eye fixed on the bowl. As she passes within the stones the murmuring grows louder and she catches fragments of names and conversations, voices from times yet to come or long past. Excitement is a hot boiling commotion in her stomach as she bends over the bowl, the water as still and calm as glass.

"Morgana?" a voice says but it is faint, issued an age ago, another time and place.

She inhales, closes her eyes and pulls in the magic around her. At once, a surge of power crashes through her head, rushing through her body, bending her over. She grabs the edge of the basin until her knuckles go white, trying to keep standing. She forces her eyes open even as pain rips through her head, a terrible sickness coming in waves. Images flash upon the water and each one is a brand on her mind.

_An island. A tower. A purple dress. Arthur smiling with tears in his eyes. A murder of crows and a passing shadow. A ribbon laced over hands. Three women in the dark. Dress floating around her ankles. Merlin. A hard kiss, a tipsy happiness bubbling at her core. Laughter. A drowned woman clutching a sword. Merlin on his knees, head bowed. A hooded figure in white. A battle field, a deep red sunset. Mordred. Emrys._

"NO!"

She yells, trying to look away but her hands will not let go, her eyes stuck open. More images flash, coming faster and faster, showing her things that make little sense until they come too fast, the magic so all consuming that her vision goes white. Eyes rolling back she has the impression of someone grabbing her arm before she exhales and darkness covers the white.

* * *

"Are you sure she's okay?"

"Yes. She just fainted. It happens to seers, or so I'm told."

"What were you doing there in the first place?"

"Why does that concern you?"

Cold. Has she heard Merlin's voice so cold before or Mordred so strained? _Mordred in her arms, the weight of him too heavy, the smell of blood…_

"I think I may be sick," she whispers clearly. Instantly Mordred is by her side, turning her over. The nausea passes and she manages to keep her stomach. She looks up at his pale, smiling face and feels her throat tightening.

_Do not cry._

"You're awake! You've been asleep for hours."

Morgana sits back in bed, her head thumping. She is in her newly acquired chambers, a room within the tower. It is high, so she has a view of the sky at all times. Merlin stands by the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Seeing him ignites an odd heat inside her chest as a phantom tingle plays over her lips. _We kissed. Will kiss…how? _Morgana looks down, maintaining an impassive expression. Aithusa sits at the end of the bed and Morgana smiles before looking back at Mordred. It hurts to look at him. This boy dying in her arms is a vision that has plagued her for years.

_It will not some to pass, it must not._

"I would like to get changed," she says quietly and Mordred and Merlin straighten.

"If you're feeling up to it come and join us for dinner," Mordred says. He has a house in the city, one that he had grown up in. He had been nervous and pleased to show her. "While you were sleeping you missed the good news. Aglain and his intended are to be married in a week or so and he would like you to come."

_Does he indeed, well he's starting to soften it seems._ Morgana smiles, saying nothing and Mordred leaves, passing Merlin who begins to follow him out.

"Don't go," she asks. He turns and after a hesitating moment comes to stand at the end of her bed as she sits up against the pillows at her back. "What happened to me?"

"I found you in the circle, looking at the water. You – you were screaming like someone was torturing you," he strokes Aithusa's back as he speaks, eyes averted. "Mordred says that the circle is like the stone circles, it conduits magic, focuses it. He calls it a scrying circle…what did you see?"

Morgana feels a flush of warmth spread over her cheeks and mentally clamps down on the spreading warmth. _Control yourself, you're not a child_. "I…I don't know how to explain it. I have always been gifted with the sight, since I was a child, before I knew what it was. They come to me in dreams but that…" she shakes her head, inhaling. "I pulled them to me and it was like a dam bursting. It was too much."

"What did you see?" he asks again quietly, looking down at the now sleeping dragon.

"Images, voices...I – I need to write it down, my sister always said that recording things is what makes it prophesy." But she does not move. She may have slept for hours but her bones ache. Merlin finally looks up, eyes fixed to hers.

"Tell me and I'll write them down. Before you forget," he adds with a half-smile and Morgana smirks before it falls. Should she tell him? Certainly not about the kiss but does she trust him enough for this? She _wants_ to now and that is the difference between the person she was two years ago.

"I saw you," she whispers, blinking tiredly. Merlin's smile freezes, eyes never leaving hers. "I saw you on your knees…" maybe he will be in danger?

He is very still for a moment before he breaks into a grin. "Sure that wasn't a vision of the past? Unfortunately my job means I have to scrub the floor every now and again."

"I suppose it does," she yawns, gazing at him with sleepy consideration. Always joking, never taking himself seriously…does he think she does not notice? "Your words are always so offhanded but pointedly so. I think the only thing you've ever said that didn't feel weighed was the story of the feathers in your pocket."

He smiles that half smile again only this time it does not reach his eyes. "Thinking before I speak is part of my role," he shrugs and smiles. "Gwen would say the same."

"Hmm there are some similarities but no, there's something different about you. Are you actually from a noble family? Someone's bastard?" she asks, taking a stab in the dark.

Merlin snorts, shaking his head. "You've met my mother, what do you think?"

"I think you're being obtuse."

"Fine," Merlin says, throwing up his hands. "My father was a lord, you've found me out," he jokes but his smile slowly falls, sadness in his eyes. "He's dead."

"I'm sorry…you have your mother, not many of us are so lucky."

They smile at each other with the same sadness, grieving parents they hardly knew. There is much she does not know about him and she feels surprised at the need to know. She wants to find out what makes Merlin, strange, contradictory Merlin, who he is.

But that will have to wait. Morgana throws the covers back and pins him with a challenging stare.

"As a king's personal assistant I will expect your ability to scribe to be nothing but exemplary," she states haughtily and he scoffs before looking worried.

"This is Arthur you're talking about, he hardly lets me write a shopping list."

"Then I'm sure Mordred will do," she says with a sigh and Merlin, as expected, stiffens. Why he dislikes the boy she can't even imagine, it's utterly baffling but then Merlin's mind works in strange ways. She will have to ask Mordred.

"I'll go get some ink."

"Much appreciated," she smirks and grins as he hurries out of the door to find some ink and parchment. That warmth she had tried to suppress pulses through her, masking the latent fear that the visions have wrought. Kissing Merlin, goddess knows why, is preferable than thinking about people she loves dying but in the end she knows which one she will force herself through hell for to ensure it does not happen.

She will stay in that crystal circle for days if it means she sees a way to save Mordred, no matter what it may do to her. These dark thoughts whirling through her head she lets that fizzle of heat spread through her as Merlin comes back into the room, arms full of parchment and ink. It is a frivolous and inexplicable feeling, she feels embarrassed but as it is likely to burn itself out in time she will enjoy it while it lasts.

"Shall we get started?"

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_Sorry for the wait! The next chapter will be quite shippy..._


	12. Chapter 12

How such a large city could go unnoticed is answered when Morgana, Mordred and Kara sail for the Isle of the Blessed one morning. As Mordred rows Morgana looks up the valley wall and blinks in confusion for a moment. The great white tower, which should be visible for miles, is utterly gone, not even a ruin remains. Just a great wall of ivy and swaying trees.

"A cloaking spell that covers the whole city? It's incredible," she breathes.

"Makes you wonder what other places or things are hidden without us ever knowing about it," Kara adds and Morgana smiles. The young woman seems happier despite the loss she has suffered. However, the drive to make changes is as strong as ever and Morgana is happy that she has her support and friendship. Mordred, for all his power and earnest desire to see change, has an optimistic, benevolent heart and does not look upon violence with the resolve of his lover. He will fight and do so honourably but the anger that burns within the women is not in him. Morgana hopes he never has cause to feel any different. As the Isle comes into view Mordred slows, looking troubled.

"I admit I have always found the isle frightening as a child."

Kara laughs. "I remember! I loved sneaking down here, looking for weapons."

"Did you find any?"

"No. They had all been stolen by Uther," Kara says darkly and Morgana nods before giving her a soft smirk.

"Don't worry, I made sure to retrieve them from the vaults when I had a chance to. They're stored in a castle in the Northern Plains, Ismere. When the time comes we will not be undefended. The Saxons or anyone else who dares to threaten us will wish they never stepped off their boats," she smiles and Kara nods seriously, eyes aflame. Mordred says nothing, staring at the turrets and battlements through the mist.

"They say that it's haunted."

"It is…" Morgana whispers but says no more. She has not seen the isle for many years and the distance does not ease her heart, which is thumping. She has dreams for the place, ones filled with light and purpose but now all she can see is her sister's dying face and the blade in her hand.

"You had better get closer," Kara instructs but Morgana shakes her head.

"This is close enough," she says standing up. Mordred frowns up at her.

"I thought you wanted to retrieve something?"

"I do…" Morgana closes her eyes, slows her breathing and begins to mutter a spell under her breath. It starts gently, a queasiness that could be mistaken for the rocking of the boat but as she lifts her hand the rocking turns into sickening swells. She stumbles, almost falling overboard but Mordred gasps and grabs hold of her robes, pulling her down.

"Are you all right?"

Morgana nods, wincing as she waits for the pain to pass but it is worth it when she sees the thing she had summoned glinting at the bottom of the boat.

"My bracelet…" she slips it over her hand and as hoped for the nausea eases until only a dull ache remains. In time that will go too. She has no idea if the healing bracelet will stop what is happening to her but it does not matter if the silver trinket stopped working entirely. It was a gift from Morgause, an item that belonged to their mother and if the time ever comes she will make sure that it is given to those in need.

She smiles softly at Mordred as he rows them back, casting her confused glances along the way. She prays that she will never face the day when she has to bestow it to another.

* * *

The day of the wedding dawns clear and windless, the air thick with birdsong and bees. Summer is reaching its peak and soon it will start to fade into Autumn. They will have the winter to prepare and plot before the Saxons strike. Time for her to recover…

_Drowned woman in a purple dress holding a sword._

The ink is smeared, as if his hand shock while writing it. She had not noticed at the time. Morgana looks up from her book, watching Aithusa flapping her wings as she balances along the balcony. Merlin had told her that the dragon had managed to hover a few inches off the ground before landing again but at least its something. From what she has read, dragons once built their nests up high in mountains and once hatched the small dragons, like fledglings, would follow their mothers out into the world, risking that plummet to the ground, with those strong enough taking flight.

Morgana pictures herself climbing up onto the balcony and stepping off, using a spell to keep her in the air. Aithusa would follow, like a baby bird after her mother.

"Follow me all the way down more like…" she sighs and looks back down at the page. Notes that Merlin had made of her visions fill it. But visions will be of no use if she cannot defend herself. She rises and steps out onto the balcony, leaning against the banister.

"You must try Aithusa. If I can't protect you as I should you must be able to escape. Something is wrong with me and I don't want to put you in any danger. Do you understand?" she asks, gazing at the dragon. Blue eyes gleam in the sun as she nods her head before opening her mouth and blowing a warmth puff of breath over her. Dragon's breath, what had once brought her from the brink of death. Morgana mutters a spell under her breath, one to make her fly but her vision clouds and she grows dizzy. Aithusa groans in concern and Morgana smiles gently and kisses the dragon's snout. As she does the bracelet slips from her dangling, thin wrist and falls.

"No!" she grabs for it and would have followed it down if a hand hadn't grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her back.

"Careful!" Merlin yells as she falls back on the ground. Morgana glares up at him.

"My bracelet! It was the last thing my sister ever gave me! Stupid," she swears, wrapping her fingers around the offending wrist in self-reproach. She has gained back much of her weight but not enough. Her throat tightens, tears prickling her eyes. "I should have been more careful. My sister gave it to me, it was my mother's…"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, bending down beside her. She feels his hand on her back and she forces herself to stare into his eyes.

"I blamed you for her death but I was wrong. She was sick and nothing could make her better…" her gaze becomes unfocused. "I know where the blame lies."

They remain in a heavy silence before Merlin half smiles and nudges her shoulder. "Come on, it's not lost. Just do a spell to get it back," he says simply and Morgana wants to laugh. She had just done so and lost it almost immediately. What use will it be to Mordred? What use will _she_ be to _anyone_ like this?

Mind swirling with fear and shame she looks up and freezes. The balcony is empty, the dragon gone. Morgana jumps up and rushes to the window, Merlin right behind her, and as they reach the threshold a great gust of wind forces them back. Morgana throws an arm over her face and looks down when something clatters at her feet.

The bracelet.

"Aithusa!" Merlin yells happily and Morgana lowers her arm. Suspended in the air is the white dragon, kept aloft by great slow strokes of her wings. Morgana gazes at her in disbelief, which quickly evaporates under the greatest joy she has ever felt. Tears welling in her eyes she screams and lifts her arms.

"You're flying! You're flying!" she laughs, watching as Aithusa begins flying in loops, clearly enjoying herself. Morgana turns to Merlin, who has a grin from ear to ear, and propelled by a common joy she throws her arms around his neck.

"I know she'd be able to do it!" Merlin says, wrapping his arms around her as she jumps and sways on the spot, too transported with happiness to stay still. Morgana pulls back and gazes at him, their bodies crushed together. She can almost feel his heartbeat next to hers. A giddy feeling ignites in her stomach when he leans forward and she exhales, staring down at his lips.

_Is this the kiss?_ she thinks dazedly. She feels drunk with happiness and while her feelings for Merlin are undefined and troubling she does not pull away. He does.

"I heard screaming! Is everything all right?" Mordred asks breathlessly as he runs into the room. Merlin's hands on her waist flex and he steps away from her immediately. The younger man blinks, looking between them.

Morgana covers her momentary embarrassment and goes to Mordred with a smile, clasping his arm. "Look at the sky," she instructs, leading him over and as soon as he sees the dragon he gasps and begins laughing in delight. Transfixed by the sight he does not see Merlin leave but Morgana turns. His eyes catch hers and they are utterly unreadable. Morgana inclines her head, her lips pursed tightly and with a very formal bow he leaves.

* * *

_Just the heat of the moment. Be grateful nothing happened._

The words ring around her mind as she slides a jewelled pin into her hair, which is gathered into braids and pinned up. Her hair has grown a few inches since cutting it short but it will take months for it to reach down her back again. Getting prepared for the wedding, focusing on her appearance, takes her mind off what had happened but as the sun begins to set she cannot stop thinking of it.

Arthur had told her once, not so subtlety, that Merlin had a crush on her. She had laughed but had not been surprised. Many men fawned over her because of her position within the court or because of her beauty. Superficial and none captured her heart or anything else. Since then men have either been intimated by her power or challenged by it, wanting to make her submit. Never love or companionship, just conquest. There is a line between strength and cruelty and she knows that men are deeply threatened by women who wield more of it then them. The ruins of the Isle is testament to that.

There is a power to Merlin, a strength but not one that could ever match hers. Even if she had no royal blood it would be the same. She is alone because she has never found a man equal to her and content to be. She has known this for years and so stopped looking beyond the need to warm her bed at night.

"This will be fun!" Kara says, breaking into her reverie. The woman is wearing a long red dress, embroidered with birds and arrows. She looks beautiful and unburdened for a change. Morgana stands and flattens the palms of her hands down over her hips and looks in the mirror.

She had found a chest full of clothes, which should have been just rags and mothballs but magic sustains them. She wears a deep green velvet dress with a plunging neck and a lighter green bodice with white dragons stitched out with thread, moonstones and mother of pearl. She has worn dark clothes for so long that it is a shock to see herself in something lighter but not unwelcome.

"You look beautiful," Kara says and Morgana smiles, taking her hand.

"As do you...Are you able to tell me something? Something about Mordred?"

"What?"

"About his parents? I've asked but he says he knows little, only that they are dead and his mother was a sorceress."

Kara is quiet before answering, her words chosen careful. "I do not know much, even as a boy he did not share. I only know that his mother was a high priestess and he was given to the druids as a baby, as is custom," she adds and Morgana frowns.

"Custom?"

"You don't know? Priestesses do not raise any children they may have. Their lives are sworn to the goddess, to their duty."

"I know why we do not marry or form attachments but I was not aware about children. My sister never mentioned it..."

"Well, it's an old rule and old rules are not always to be followed," Kara says reassuringly and Morgana nods, smiling but she is troubled. Her sister taught her all she knew, sharing everything, or so she had thought. Only two priestesses she is aware of were alive and old enough to give birth to Mordred: Nimueh and her sister.

Pushing these unanswerable questions aside she focuses on Kara and motions to the bonfire visible from a window as they leave. "Do you see this in your future, with Mordred?"

Kara, usually so brave, looks at her feet with a shy smile. "I do, I have wanted to marry him since I was nine years old," she looks up as her smile falls. "But we have a war to win and I am a soldier before I am anyone's wife."

Morgana nods in understanding. Many couples get married in a rush when war looms but Kara is far too practical for that. Even so that nine year old who dreamed of marrying a quiet, serious boy is still in there and when she sees Mordred waiting at the base of the tower she runs into his arms.

Morgana smiles, looking up and spots Aithusa swooping overhead. Since taking to the sky the dragon has hardly touched the earth. Not that Morgana can blame her but she keeps her eyes trained to the sky as they make their way to the ceremony.

* * *

Aglain and his bride, a blonde woman who looks familiar, jump over the small bonfire to cheers and clapping. The ceremony had been short and different to what she has experienced. A druid wedding feels more intimate, the guests part of the ceremony rather than just witnesses. It had felt unifying.

Morgana claps, smiling as the druids dance around a large bonfire while others take a seat along trestle tables, food and drink laid out. The sky is cloudless and the air still warm, they could celebrate well into the morning, which Mordred tells her is likely to happen. She watches him dancing with Kara, looking handsome and clearly in love. Morgana is happy for them and a little envious. To know that you love someone from childhood and to have no qualms or doubts about it. Something almost fated…

Smiling wistfully she takes a seat near the bonfire and looks up. Aithusa flies in slow lazy circles, like an eagle. It seems dragons can fly for a very long time before getting tired.

"You better not be up there all night, you'll miss the fun," she mutters and looks down. In the shadows and away from the throng of people Merlin watches the dancing. Her breathing becomes shallow as he catches her eye. He looks different. The druid robes that he always seemed uncomfortable in are gone. Instead he wears a white shirt, brown breeches and boots. His hair, having grown longer like her own, curls over his forehead. She has hardly ever seen him in anything that wasn't red or blue and his hair always neatly maintained. Seeing that he has been spotted he moves slowly to her, keeping to the shadows as if not wanting to be seen. Morgana turns with her back to the celebration and gazes up at him in consideration. He smirks a little, arms out.

"How do I scrub up?"

"Do you really want to know?" she smirks, getting to her feet. The truth is he looks very handsome. That tingling feeling in her stomach writhes and she clears her throat. "Where did you find them? In the tower?"

"Yes. It's so strange, everything is so perfectly preserved. I keep expecting someone to come in my room and demand to know why I'm sleeping in their bed."

"I know, like they only left a week ago. The magic that keeps everything together here is phenomenal."

Merlin smiles, eyeing her for a moment before looking at the bonfire. "I found out what this city is called. I found an old map in the library."

"What is it?"

"Moridunum."

She tests it on her tongue, liking the sound of it. She has never heard of it and judging from what the druids have said they have no idea what it is called either. It's just _the city_. She watches them laugh and feels a pang of pity. How freeing it must be to have a moment of peace without the threat of knights and dogs suddenly chasing you out of your camp. Her eyes stray to Aglain, who is seated beside his wife, eating and laughing.

"You've met her you know." Merlin says, breaking into her thoughts.

"I thought she was familiar but I can't place her."

"She lived in Camelot, in the town. She was the druid I took you to all those years ago. She led you to Aglain."

"That's it," Morgana smiles, looking at the blonde woman who certainly seems happier than the last time she saw her. "She took to me to the forest and no further. Didn't even tell me her name."

"It's Forridel. After they thought you had been kidnapped she fled. I'm glad she's still alive."

Morgana looks at him, eyes narrowed. "How _did_ you know who to go to?"

"I saw her name on a list Uther had of suspected sorcerers. She had a tattoo on her arm so I knew she must have been a druid," he shrugs and she continues to gaze at him thoughtfully until he smiles. "What?"

"You're full of surprises."

"If you say so…do you want to dance?" he asks suddenly and she straightens.

_Does she?_ Yes she does but with _him_? Who else would ask her? Morgana looks at the dancing druids, who for all there serenity are throwing themselves around with unbidden joy. Most do not drink but Ruadan is clearly well into his cups, singing songs to his red-faced daughter. Morgana laughs and looks back at Merlin.

"I think I need a drink first."

"Good thinking," he replies and taking her hand pulls her towards the barrels of wine and beer set before the tables. They fill their cups and drink, Morgana taking a long gulp before refilling her cup. She had been raised to the etiquette and manners of courtly life, knew that courting was nothing but a game that she had to delicately maneuver to win. But this was no court and she was no longer a princess.

_I am a priestess and that duty is a mountain next to that of a princess or queen…but one dance will not hurt. He will be going back to Camelot soon and this respite will be over. I may never get one again…_

"Try not to step on my toes," she warns, offering her hand and Merlin takes it.

"Who do you think taught Arthur to dance?"

"Gwen?" she fires back and he laughs. The queen had taught her, they used to spend hours practising, gossiping excitedly about who will be attending and what she will wear. Another life now. Merlin guides her towards the fire and stops, bowing and she curtsies, the formality of it ingrained in both.

"I hope they don't expect us to leap about," Merlin whispers as she slides her hand in his and settles her other on his shoulder. His fingers rest on her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"I don't want to think how drunk I'd have to be for that," she jokes, letting him guide her in slow circles. Drums pound and fiddles play an upbeat tune that makes the others jump and spin. _They_ look like they cannot hear it, like something slow and serious is playing. Morgana looks over Merlin's shoulder and finds Mordred staring at them. She expects to see him laughing or at least embarrassed but he looks troubled, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Am I that terrible?" Merlin asks, catching her concerned expression. She looks at him, shaking her head. They dance; swaying around the fire and Mordred is lost from sight.

"You don't like Mordred, do you?"

Merlin's eyebrow fly up and he licks his lips. "I hardly know him."

"Even so, the way you look at him. It's irrational."

"Is it?" he asks. They have stopped dancing now; their hands still laced together. "How do we know what he's been up to for the past ten years?"

"He told us, he's either been with the druids or spying on the Saxons. You don't believe him?" she feels a spike of anger. Mordred has been nothing but supportive and gracious.

"I only have his word for that."

"Well maybe you should try extending some trust. This is exactly the obstacle that these people will face, lack of trust and willingness to listen. I hoped you would see it differently. You've spent weeks with these people now, what else can you report to Arthur but their openness and kindness?"

"That's exactly what I will tell him. I have nothing against the druids, I want them to be free and safe and that's what I'll tell Arthur," he says with a quiet conviction before looking through the flames at Mordred. "Anything else is personal and does not concern the king…or you for that matter."

"Fine," she glares at him, breathing laboured and he does not drop his eyes. He begins to smirk, the corner of his mouth curling as a fast and lively tune begins to thrum around the camp. Morgana only has time to gasp before he's lifting her arm up in the air and spinning her around.

"You're far too serious Morgana, lighten up!"

"You lighten up!" she squeals, which she will later think on with mortification. Now she laughs, allowing him to spin her around and around until the fire and the druids are streaks of light and colour against her eyes. With a final thudding drumbeat he bends her over his arm and she laughs, clutching at his shoulders as he throws her back upright.

"You look beautiful, I never said," he whispers against her ear and she feels a flush of warmth. Or maybe that's the blood rushing from her head. Morgana smiles before realising that Aglain is standing behind them. She pushes against Merlin's chest and he steps back, smiling in greeting at the druid.

"I'm happy to see you smiling my lady," he says to Morgana, who feel a tingling pleasure at his kind words.

"Thank you. Congratulations on your wedding. I hope the goddess will bless all your days to come," she inclines her head as Aglain bows to her, a druid chieftain to a high priestess. His eyes pass over Merlin, who stands stiffly at her side.

"I am grateful that _all_ could see this day. If you'll excuse me," he inclines his head again and walks back to his wife and guests. Mordred comes over to Morgana, smiling.

"Do I get a dance?"

"I don't know, that's up to Merlin."

"Ha ha. I think I'll go eat now, I'm famished," Merlin lets go of her hand and walks past Mordred to the tables. She had not even realised that their hands were joined. Morgana turns her attention to Mordred, who gazes at her thoughtfully.

"What is it?"

"It's nothing…just be careful Morgana."

"Of what?" she asks as he leads to her a seat beside the fire.

"Your heart," he answers seriously and she laughs.

"Are you concerned for me? How sweet," she leans forward and cups his face. "Mordred trust me, this heart is impenetrable…and men are insane."

Mordred laughs as she lowers her hands. "I know your strength but love knows no bounds."

"That's how you got in here before I had even seen you," she says softly, recalling the very first time she had seen him as a child. The love she had felt was instant and complete. "I wish that the camp had never been raided that day, I wish I had been able to stay with you, raise you…things would have been very different."

Mordred smiles. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Not enough…" she eyes Merlin, who is now sitting and talking with a group of druids. "Try to stay out of Merlin's way. For some reason he does not trust you."

"I know and I have no idea why," he answers with a wary sincerity. "I just want to be his friend but I suppose it's a lost cause. Please remember what I said Morgana," he pleads and she looks back at Merlin and smirks.

"Don't worry, I'm not losing my heart to Arthur's man servant."

She nudges Mordred's shoulder, who gets up to fetch her a drink. For the next few hours she eats, drinks and watches the druids dance and becomes tipsy and supple enough to throw her cares to the wind and jump around the fire with a group of druid women, women who one day may be her fellow priestesses. As they links hands and chant Aithusa flies low and breathes a great billow of fire into the night sky. Morgana and the others clap and laugh and Aithusa finally settles beside the camp-fire, looking sleepy. Drunk and happier than she has been in years Morgana croons the dragon to sleep, sinking down next to her.

"Remember this night my darling, remember the day you flew and people cheered for you. You are not a creature of darkness or evil, you are pure and good. I love you," she presses her forehead against Aithusa's side, listening to the rhythm of her breathing as she sleeps. Cheek pressed to her warm scales she watches the druids dancing through the fire, the music slow and mournfully sung by a woman.

Merlin dances with another, smiling drunkenly. Morgana lifts her head, feeling something inside her stirring. The druid girl smiles shyly up at him, the fire glinting in her red hair as he twirls her around. The girl rises on her toes and presses her lips to his and even at this distance she can see the blue of his widening eyes. He blinks and his eyelids flutter closed.

Morgana looks away and struggles to stand. The stirring has turned into a gyre, a frothing commotion of emotion that she does not know what she is feeling. Drunk and starting to feel the prickles of shameful jealousy she walks away, not knowing where she is going as long as it is away from him.

"Stupid, stupid…what do I care?" she mutters to herself, hands clutches at her sides. "I'm a princess – I mean _priestess_. We do not dance," she hisses, twirling her fingers. "Especially not with merlins…servants. Goddess, stop talking," she inhales and leans against a wall, her head spinning. It's not often that she gets drunk and now she remembers why.

"Morgana?"

"Oh no…go away," she utters, opening her eyes. Merlin sways up to her, smiling. Morgana backs away and almost breaks her neck falling down a step she does not see.

"Watch it!" he gasps, grabbing her arm. She pushes him away and looks up. They are at the amphitheatre, now completely empty. The oak tree stands still and impressive, some of it's leaves starting to settle on the ground and seats under it. She stares at the throne craved into the trunk and feels an odd anger bursting through her. She turns to him suddenly, making him jerk back.

"What do you want?!"

"What? Nothing! I saw you leaving, going the wrong way."

"You don't have to follow me everywhere Merlin but then you're Arthur's little spy," she utters meanly, poking her finger at his chest. Merlin frowns and fumbles for her wrist.

"I'm not a spy."

"Don't lie. It makes sense. You're not a servant. You don't act like one, you don't speak like one. So much rests on what you tell him, you could say anything…" she whispers, the fire going out of her.

"I'm only going to tell him the truth…you have to trust me Morgana."

"I did once and you broke me," she says gutturally, turning away but he gently pulls her to him, his face inches from hers. She looks aside, unable to stare into his eyes.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness…but I swear I will do everything to make this right for you now," he pulls her closer to him, his hands on her tight, almost yearning. Morgana finally looks at her him.

"Don't betray me again."

"I won't, I promise," he gazes at her intensely, never looking away until he smiles gently. "I was your friend once Morgana, despite our differences. We can be again."

Morgana smiles, a flickering thing like a guttering candle flame until it goes out. She moves back from him, unable to cast the sight of the kiss she had seen from her mind or banish the sting of jealousy that burns inside her. It is mortifying because while her mind revolts her heart screams it. This strange and terrible man is hers.

"Who are you?" she breathes and he stills, eyes trapped by hers.

"What?"

"What have you done to me?"

"Nothing…maybe we should go back," he points over his shoulder, looking a little startled and the intoxicated possessiveness that is now unleashed in her blood surges up around her head.

"Arthur always said you had a crush on me," she utters, too drunk to care.

"What?" he laughs, embarrassed. He steps back, shaking his head. "He was joking. Obviously," he adds, looking behind him again. "Morgana are you all right?"

"I have never felt better," she smiles and wonders what she looks like. Hair floating around her head in a mess, the hem of her dress dusty, her skin gleaming with sweat. "I think I've been poisoned," she mutters, half to herself.

"What are you talking about?" Merlin asks, taking hold of her arms again in concern.

"My magic is poison," she whispers and then wishes she had said nothing. He looks deeply concerned, as if she is some mad person. She used to feel that way when she was younger and had no idea what was happening to her. Only this time there is no one to tell her the truth.

"Morgana?"

"It's nothing, I'm fine, just drunk. Go back to the girl," she says tiredly, pushing her body against his to get him to move but he doesn't.

"What girl?"

"The one you were kissing," she replies, her voice remarkably level.

"She kissed me…were you watching?" he asks, amused.

"Of course not. Please just go."

"Are you sure you're all right? You - you're not jealous are you?" he is smiling now and Morgana wishes that she had fallen asleep beside Aithusa. Actually, she wishes that she could use her magic freely because she would turn him into a frog. Or a bird, he could finally have his wish and fly.

"Why would I be jealous of you?" she retorts haughtily and he shrugs, smiling.

"Well if you're okay then I'll go back," he smiles and lifts his hand in farewell when she grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him to her and then forces him back until his back hits a wall of an archway. Lips almost touching she smirks.

"Will you?" she whispers, eyes pinned to his. She slides her hands into his hair and makes him lean lower. Her lips hovers over his, brushing near the corner of his mouth but never touching. His mouth parts and he exhales, his hands now gripping her waist. The corner of her mouth curls, her eyes playful, challenging. Her chest heaves against his, while he pushes his hip against hers and the friction almost makes her cave. She breathes against his cheek, gliding upwards until his eyelashes flutter against her lips and then moves slowly down along his jaw, her lips almost touching his skin. He swallows convulsively and she gazes back at his eyes. The look in them force all the air out of her lungs. There is nothing dreamy, nothing nervous or hesitant about this laboured seduction. He looks like a predator whose restraint is about to snap.

_Who would leash a beast like a pet?_ is the faint thought that floats across her mind before her own resistance breaks under the pressure and with a moan she crushes her mouth to his, her lips parting under the force of his kiss. Hands gripping his hair fiercely she swipes her tongue along his bottom lip as he picks her up, arms wrapped around her body. She can taste wine and berries and then blood when she bites down. Merlin grunts, breaking away as she cranes her head back with a relishing smile. He kisses her bare throat, leaving small blooms of red against her pale skin all the way down to her chest.

Mind and body swirling with alcohol and an angry lust she grips his face between her hands and gazes at him, making sure it's still Merlin but then realises she doesn't know who that is. Who they are does not matter; it's what they want that does. She lowers her hands and becomes supple against him and with a growling noise he lifts her up and she wraps her legs around his hips, her dress falling down around her knees.

The music from the camp thumps and pounds through the air and the earth, like a primal heartbeat, matching hers beat for beat…

* * *

_**a.n:**_

_to be continued from Merlin's POV..._


	13. Chapter 13

He can feel the magic running under her skin. It makes his fingertips tingle. Every time he moves against her Morgana's eyes flash gold, a burst of light under her fluttering eyelashes. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, his face buried against her neck. Can she sense what is burning inside him or is she fooled even now? He has never been with someone else with magic and it just seems to make the experience sweeter. The very air vibrates, humming in his ears.

Under the leaves of the great oak she rolls him below her, pressing him into the thick grass, a playful smile stretching her mouth. She is incredibly beautiful, he has been half in love with her since the moment he saw her but that had been the dreams of a boy, wanting something unreachable. That feeling had increased painfully when he realised they were the same.

Now? Now he pulses with a guilt to match his desire.

"Wait," he says weakly and she stills above him, her hands against his shoulders. Since she had kissed him he has felt like something exploded inside and dragged him along in the wake of that feeling. He wants her so much it hurts and all he wants is to roll her under him and make her scream into completion but alongside that long held desire is an ache, one that will rip him apart if he is not careful.

_This cannot happen._

"What is it?" she asks, drunk and breathless. Tendrils of hair have slipped out from their silver pins and her bodice lies half-open, exposing her breasts. He sighs and reaches up to touch her red lips, making her kiss his fingers.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he tries to sound convincing but he can hardly concentrate. She gyrates and sinks down further and he jerks upright, gripping her hips with a groan. Morgana smirks, inches away from his face.

"I don't care. I don't care if you're a servant," she kisses his lips gently and pain flashes in his eyes. He cups her face.

"It's not that. Truthfully I want no one but you…but I can't do this, it wouldn't be fair," he kisses her forehead and rolls her under him as she blinks in confusion. Lust flares through him and he takes a moment to calm, closing his eyes at the ruffled and gorgeous sight of her before he pulls away. Getting up his knees he laces his breeches as she gets up on her elbows, her confusion turning into humiliation.

"I don't understand. You don't want this? Me?"

"I've been dreaming about this since I was nineteen," he says with a sad smile before it fades. "We lead different lives. You're a priestess, attached to no man and I have my duty to Camelot."

"I decide who I form attachments to," she fires back, gripping her dress closed. Anger burns in her eyes and he feels like something in him is breaking. "If you don't want this, if that was just the drink, then do me the credit of admitting it."

"It's not the alcohol. It would be dishonourable of me to take this any further."

"_Why?_" she asks through her teeth, her eyes flashing gold.

There have been many moments in his life where the need to share his secret is almost too powerful to withstand and in that second he has never fought so hard. To tell her the truth would knock down boundaries between them but also create even more. She has asked him never to betray her again but the truth will be the biggest betrayal of all. He cannot start a relationship with her when she is so in the dark but cannot share it without destroying what they have painfully and slowly rebuilt.

He wants to scream, scream until he has no voice left and the very earth shakes with his frustrations. Instead, he swallows it down, contains it like all the wild things inside him. He smiles sadly and takes hold of her hands, rubbing his thumb gently along the back of her hand.

"I never dreamed that we would be friends again, that you would have let me in this far but you have. For what I did I don't deserve it but your friendship means so much to me and I don't want anything to destroy that. I just want you to be safe and I never want to inflict any pain on you again, which might happen if we carry on," he gazes at her intensely, his chest tight with emotion. His words are sincere, he does not want to hurt her but there is so much he wants despite that.

Morgana, who had been glaring at him now stares with a muted displeasure. "You've humiliated me," she says, looking down to lace her bodice back together. Merlin shuffles closer on his knees and grips her hands tightly.

"I'm so sorry. I should never have let it get this far but I couldn't stop. I wish it could be different but it can't be," he shakes his head, blinking away tears in his eyes before she can see. She lifts her head, mouth pursed.

"You want me but you don't? Because you value our friendship so much? Is that it?"

"…Yes. I understand if you never want to speak to me again after this."

Morgana says nothing, getting to her feet and he rises with her. They stand in silence staring at the other. Finally, she sighs and looks up at the tree. She is hurt. Once she would have hidden it with a smirk and a quip, for those she likes, and done far worse to an enemy but she has been stripped too raw for that. He fights the need to bend down and kiss her lips and take her in his arms, anything to take back what he had said. Instead, he laces his hands behind his back and lowers his head

"I haven't been close to anyone for a long time, even before Amata…" she flicks her eyes to his. "Once I would have killed you for this. Is that weakness or strength? I don't know, I'm drunk and feel like a fool," she looks aside, biting her lip.

"Morgana, I'm sorry I –"

"No," she glares at him, judging him. "I think I understand but Merlin you put too much substance on what we just did. You're one of those that throws his whole heart into a thing, when it doesn't have to be that way," she straightens, lifting her chin. "We could share a bed and never consider the heart."

"I couldn't, that's not me."

"I know…and that's why I'm not castrating you right now," she flashes a sharp dangerous smirk before she turns away, her shoulders sagging a little. She looks over her shoulder at him as she climbs the steps. "Don't approach me, I'll come to you. I need to think…"

"Of course. Goodnight, my lady" he whispers and she turns away without another word, leaving him to sit on the throne carved into the tree, head in his hands.

* * *

For days he sees her from a distance as the meeting with the Disir comes ever closer. Since entering the city he has felt at once more connected to magic than he ever has and utterly paranoid that it will be revealed. In Camelot no one knows about his secret but Gaius and so he can go about his days in peace. Here he looks on every passing druid who stares at him for too long with suspicion.

The elders are the worst because they know and it is only their good faith and _choice_ to keep his secret. The same is true of Mordred, who had been quick to calm his fears. He says that he will not reveal his magic to Morgana, saying that it is his responsibility. Merlin doubts he feels the same way now.

"I feared this happening; I warned her to be careful and begged you not to go too far!"

"This is none of your business," Merlin growls through his teeth. He and Mordred stand on the main road, the sun rising. Somehow, the boy had found out what had happened between him and Morgana.

"I'm making it my business," he says, placing a hand on Merlin's chest. He fights the compulsion to blast him away with magic. He sees that the younger man is kind and sincere but the threat he might pose to Arthur makes it so Merlin can never trust him. "I love her, do you understand? She's like my mother," he explains, his anger cooling.

"You have nothing to worry about. We're friends, if she wants to be still. I've told her a relationship can't happen and it won't. She has no idea about me and I want to keep it that way."

"For how long? You can't be her friend and still keep this from her," he shakes his head sadly. "I understand the struggle, I too have had to hide who I am when I'm not with my people…but this is different. She is one of us, you're the same."

"Don't you think I know that? You have no idea how hard this is, how hard it's _always_ been. If she knows the truth she'll never trust me again and I'll always be her enemy," he glares at Mordred until the man lowers his eyes, shaking his head sadly. Since the night under the oak a white hot frustration has boiled inside Merlin and with no space to vent it. He could level cities to the ground.

Mordred gazes at him softly, pleading. "Surely the alternative is reason to try? Imagine how much happier, how much _stronger_ you and our people would be if you worked together, no lies and no secrets. The High Priestess and Emrys! I'll _help_ you Merlin, she will be angry at first and it will take time but I can talk to her."

"You said you wouldn't force this."

"That was before I realised you loved each other."

Merlin laughs. "You're young."

"Maybe but I'm not blind. She's in love with you and I've seen the way you look at her. Maybe neither of you realise but I think the whole camp knows," he gives a soft smirk and Merlin rolls his eyes and sighs.

How is he having this conversation with Mordred of all people? "Whatever you want to call it I can't hurt her, she has suffered enough and I will not add to it. Now _leave it_," he warns, his eyes flashing gold. Mordred backs away, bowing his head.

"Fine but remember this Merlin, I tried to reason with you. Whatever happens next is on your own head."

Merlin watches him walk away, his teeth grinding before he walks back to the white tower. Camelot fills his mind, the white walls and the familiar paths and he feels incredibly home sick, but following that feeling comes an image of Gwen's patient and expecting face.

He has been putting off the reality of his return but he cannot any longer. If he returns to Camelot he has to tell Arthur the truth. Gwen had given him a month. He has been so concerned with Morgana and the people around him discovering his secret that he has not thought of what may happen to him once he leaves this place.

Will the king dismiss him from service, sever all ties to him and their friendship? Will the thing he dreads happening with Morgana happen anyway? What will his fate be? Why for all his power is his life and future in the hands of so many but his own? These thoughts whirl through his head, sporing more and more that he has no answer to. He is so consumed with these troubles that he does not see the person ahead of him until he almost knocks them over.

"Sorry!" Merlin gasps, helping the man to stand and his stomach tightens. It is Iseldir. Since coming to the city Merlin has avoided the man as much as possible. "I – I better go," he stutters and walks around him.

"Merlin, please?" the man's voice is soft, gentle and Merlin stops, inhaling.

"I can't, whatever you want from me I can't give it."

"I ask nothing from you, only your company. Please," he motions to the balcony with a smile and after a hesitating moment, Merlin joins him. From the top of the tower a spectacular view of the valley is visible, the morning mist still clinging to the trees and river. Ivy trails over the stonework, some of it creeping through the doorway and windows.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"I envy the person who gets to see this every morning."

"Well this view is yours as much as anyone's…"

Merlin glances at him sharply and the man smiles, mischief in his eyes. Since entering the city he has heard, from young and old, that the tower was built by Emry's himself. Merlin is almost starting to congratulate himself for his craftsmanship he's heard it so much.

"I think I'd remember building an entire city. Though who knows, I do tend to sleepwalk…" he smiles, staring at Iseldir before he sighs. "You didn't invite me to look at the view did you?"

"We can do both…" he leans on the parapet and Merlin remains standing upright. Iseldir speaks, more to himself than Merlin. "I have heard of you since I was a child: Emrys, the great warlock whose birth was foretold a millennia ago. His coming foretells great change in our times."

"I'm not some kind of saviour."

"I never said you were. Your presence amongst us portends _change_ and that can be for good or ill," Iseldir looks at him as a chill passes through Merlin. "The Emrys of legend was an inventive harbinger of magic; he built the very foundation of our society and encouraged others with gifts to harness them for the betterment of others. A golden age…but all ages must come to an end," he adds warily, standing straight, his eyes focused on the mist.

"You think me being here means something bad? That magic will end because of _me_?" he feels hot with anger and reproach, glaring at the calm druid who just gazes at him with serenity. "Emry's is a legend, a children's story and I'm not buying that I'm some bad omen." The fact that he has heard the complete opposite since he was a boy makes the druid's claims even more ridiculous. He has a golden destiny, one that's meant to bring change for the _better_.

"I do not lay any blame or think there is any to give. Time is a wheel and this age is ending, as all must…but you still have a part to play, if you chose to."

"From what you've just said I'm better off hiding in some cave somewhere. What good can I do?"

"That is entirely up to you. You can go back to Camelot and live as you have, in secret and shadows…or you can help us live in peace, for as long as this age will last. You have great power, a power I think you do not even fully grasp. Whether you believe the stories of Emrys or not your soul is bound to the wheel and _we _believe that soul is the same."

"I'm Merlin," he answers bluntly.

"Yes you are. A loyal servant and advisor, who has lived in secret and asked for nothing in return. That gives me hope," he says with a thoughtful smile.

"I'm not a legend, whatever you may say…but I am a warlock, I don't deny it. I have a destiny and I have used my gifts to bring about a golden age by protecting _Arthur_. It's through him that it will happen, not me."

"The Once and Future King…" the druid whispers and the phrase makes Merlin shiver because Iseldir looks so sad. "I do not dictate what you should do or think, we are all seeking answers and a light through the dark. The Disir will guide as to understand what the future holds for us, even you…if you are willing to ask, if you are willing to listen."

"I don't think I got an invitation. Everyone else seems to have felt a pull to come to the valley but I haven't. Why?"

Iseldir smiles, about to leave and looks at Merlin over his shoulder. "Your first question. Be sure you want to know the answer because I cannot say if you will like it or not. Farewell Emrys, may the goddess light your way in safety."

Merlin looks back at the mist slowly burning away and Aithusa appears, swooping in and out through the trees, as carefree and happy as he is troubled and stuck. He thinks about calling for Kilgarrah but as if she had read his thoughts, the white dragon flies towards him and lands on a spike of stone jutting out from the balcony.

"What do you think I should do?"

Aithusa blinks and cocks her head in confusion and then lays her snout on the scar that rings her leg, the leg that had once been cuffed with iron. Blue eyes, usually timid and guileless, look sharply at him and her voice echoes through his mind like clear notes of music.

_Remove your shackles…walk in the light…fly._

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_I hope you're not disappointed that it wasn't a fully fledged love scene. It just didn't seem in character for Merlin to let it go any further, not when he feels so conflicted. But don't worry, there will be a lot of push/pull resistance between them ;)_

_Isn't he a frustrating little wizard? *sigh*_

_Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter guys! The Disir next and more Merlin/Morgana..._


	14. Chapter 14

He rises before dawn, out of habit but his steps are slow and he yawns repeatedly. His night had been spent feverishly imagining the dark and shadowy path his life may take in the next few days. The city, which he once could not wait to leave, now seems secure and welcoming. He could live here quietly, learn and grow old but that is a dream. If he stayed or if he ran Arthur would seek him out anyway and he would be forced to tell him the truth. He wonders how much pressure Gwen has been under over the last month keeping his secret. She must be half dreading, half counting down the hours until his return.

Whichever way he looks at it his life as he has known it is over and a new one beginning. The choice to pick a path seems out of his hands and it fills him with torment. Feeling twisted and agitated he moves through the woods, absentmindedly picking flowers and fauna.

_This would not be a problem if I had been brave, if I had spoken up sooner. All these years…_Once the truth had been forever on the tip of his tongue, a frenzied and whirling thing that longed to be free but now it sits like stones in his stomach, heavy and immovable. The process will be painful, almost impossible but it must happen and he must be the one to do it. This seems the only choice he has in the situation and so he spends the next two hours going over what he will tell Arthur.

As he contemplates this he sees a shape through the trees and moves forward slowly, stems of wild flowers clutched in his hand. The sun slants through the trees, dust motes and insects darting through the beams and bird song trills around him. It's peaceful but as he sees who it is he feels nervous.

"Morgana?"

He has kept his distance and she had not approached him but this may be the last time they meet, the last time she may look on him as something like a friend. Suddenly his blood is on fire, his lungs tight and hot. He experiences a burning need to grasp this fragile thing between them and not let go. When she turns and he sees that she had been heading towards the Scrying Circle this feeling intensifies painfully.

"Good morning," she says quietly and he's relieved to see no anger on her face. Whatever ire she had felt must have cooled. He is lucky she does not hate him for his conduct, he would not blame her. She smirks a little as he comes closer, her eyes narrowing. "I wondered when you would speak to me again."

"You said to wait."

"I know," she shrugs and looks towards the crystals, which he can faintly see glinting through the trees. She sighs and moves toward the circle and Merlin grabs her arm before thinking.

"You're not going back there are you?"

"I must. The power the circle wields is unmatched and they're just sitting there. If I know what the future will bring then maybe I will have a chance to save us," she looks up the path with a determined, hungry expression. Merlin's hand tightens around her arm.

"The last time you used it you were ill. Don't do it again."

"Are you giving me an order?" she looks back, mouth curling.

"I just don't want you to be ill. You – you've been through a lot, you should spend this time recovering, not putting more strain on yourself. One of the druids can use the crystals," he tries to reason and she looks aside, the look on her face touched but it soon turns troubled.

"I think we're both too late for that," she whispers.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sick Merlin," she utters, finally looking at him and the words sigh from her lips, as if long held. Unthinkingly he places his hand against her forehead. Her skin is cool and soft against his hot palm. Her eyes flutter in surprise before she smiles gently. "You remind me of Gwen sometimes."

"What's wrong?" his hand moves down to touch her cheek, pressing the back of his hand against her skin.

"Nothing on the surface," she says and her eyes fill with panic and fear. "There's something wrong with my magic. If I do a powerful spell, draw on too much I feel sick and faint, like there's something polluted flooding through me _in_ the magic. It's sweet but revolting," her mouth down turns in disgust and she lowers her eyes.

Merlin battles with an overpowering need to use his magic to delve into her, to find the sickness and heal it but she would sense it. His fingers play over her cheek and gets caught up in her trailing hair. He threads his fingers through it, sliding them along her scalp and makes her look up at him. He gazes into her eyes fixedly.

"I won't let anything happen to you... and the druids can help you, they have healers here."

She shakes her head. "I can't afford to look weak, not when war approaches. If they realise that I'm a liability then the women who have agreed to study with me might decide not to. The fact that they've agreed knowing of my past has been a miracle, I can't jeopardise that."

"You can't lie to them," he says and wishes he had not as he feels flush with guilt. He swallows and carries on. "Speak to Iseldir, I'm sure he can help you and no one else has to know."

"What if he can't help me? What if this is because of the weed? I might be like this forever," she shakes her head again, her sadness starting to crackle into anger. "If Birgit was in front of me right now I would make a pyre out of Witch's Fear and burn her alive."

She shakes with rage and sadness and Merlin pulls her into his arms. "It might be the weed, I don't know but I think the longer you do nothing the more it will plague you. Go to Iseldir after you see the Disir."

Morgana nods and pulls back from him. "I've been foolish but I can't help it. I don't trust physicians," she sneers a little and Merlin lets the bribe go. She must have a very complicated view of Gaius. Morgana inhales and exhales, calming herself, and steps back. The loss of her in his arms stings. Looking down he remembers the flowers in his hand and offers them to her. She laughs.

"Someone was always sending me flowers. Gwen wouldn't tell me who but I knew," she takes them with a smile and Merlin scratches his forehead, feeling warm. They've made love, albeit briefly, and yet he feels as awkward as a teenager. It's as if they've begun this thing backwards.

"I hoped I was being careful…Arthur caught me once. He warned me off and said, as a servant, I had no hope."

"Well he can eat those words can't he?" she smells the flowers, her eyes hooded and he has no idea if she is referring to Gwen and Arthur or them. Thinking of Arthur dims the odd happiness and he sighs, looking at the path Morgana was about to walk.

"Sometimes I wish I could see what will happen as clearly as you can."

"Don't, knowing what might happen is a terrible burden," she says forlornly, walking towards the city, flowers swinging by her legs.

"I suppose…I wish I could stay here," he says, the words bursting from him.

"Why don't you?" she asks simply.

"My place is in Camelot," he replies. Once that would have been true but now… "I mean it's my home but I guess being away from it has given me some perspective."

"The world does not begin and end at Camelot's walls. We both grew up as children away from the citadel, hearing stories of how fair and wonderful it is…the reality is altogether different."

"Different but those stories have truth in them otherwise why am I here? Camelot is a place of change, for good or bad. Choices are made there and the ripples of that spread wide. I hope when it happens again it will be for the better."

"That depends on you and what you'll tell Arthur."

"And that depends on the Disir," he counters. They stop at the top of a rise in the land, overlooking the city. What will these three women say? Will they sense his presence? "Maybe I shouldn't go; I don't think it's my place. I'll report what you tell me."

"You _will_ go," she says firmly. "Arthur won't trust my word but he'll listen to you. The whole reason you're here is to tell him what is happening."

"Not the whole reason," he whispers and she looks at him sharply before softening. Her hair has grown and now it glints in waves in the breeze, the sun illuminating her eyes softly. The image will stay with him for years, when all he has are memories and she is far away. Not for the first time he wishes that he had not stopped that night under the tree.

Morgana tilts her head, eyeing him thoughtfully before she smiles. "You're so confusing Merlin. The way you look at me…"

"I'm sorry," he mutters, lowering his eyes. She moves closer to him until her dress brushes against his legs.

"You're not one of those odd followers of the new religion are you?" she asks and the question is so unexpected that he laughs, his head shooting up.

"What?"

"Haven't you seen them? These men in white who swear off wine, women and wickedness," her mouth curls up at the corner, her gaze hot. "I saw a few in my travels."

"From what you've seen what do you think?" he leans closer to her, caught in her gaze. "Trust me, none of those things made me stop that night."

"Only some foolish sense of honour…we could have passed these days differently," she whispers and though her breath is heavy with flirtation her eyes are sad and vulnerable. Merlin lets himself imagine those could-have-been-days, days spent twined up in sheets with her, kissing her in shadowy corners of the castle and leaving flowers by her bedside in the morning. It would have been bliss.

"I am an idiot," he groans and she grins, teeth flashing in the light. He wants to pin her to the tree behind them, kiss her until neither of them can breathe or stand up. He wants to make love to her and when he looks into her eyes the gold of his irises will match hers. They are the same...And for that very reason she is untouchable. The dream he has in his head would turn into a waking nightmare because once he leaves her side she will find out the truth and it will destroy them.

"Every time we part I want you to kiss me goodbye," she says into his ear, her hands clasping his shoulders.

"Every time?"

"Yes. Or is that too dishonourable for you?"

"You've got no idea," he says and she leans back, her eyes half hooded. Merlin inclines his head in farewell and before he can over think it, he pulls her towards him and presses his mouth to hers. He kisses her until a group of druid women find them in the grass, their hair and clothes speckled with flowers and leaves. He kisses her mouth once as she leads her acolytes away, her cheeks flush and her eyes bright.

That kiss will linger for a long time, longing to be replaced with another...

* * *

Only a handful make the journey to see the Disir, following a stream that cuts through the woods. There are many ways to the cave where the Disir stay but in ancient days this was the path directly linked to the city. The road is overgrown but Merlin can see moss covered hulks in the mist, remnants of statues and temples. Above them, he can hear the steady beat of Aithusa's wings and it gives him a sense of comfort.

Iseldir leads the way, followed by Kara, Ruadan, Mordred, Morgana and finally Merlin. They travel in silence, each consumed with their own thoughts. When they come to a billowing wall of mist they stop.

"This is the barrier surrounding the city, concealing us and hindering those from entering," Mordred explains quietly as Iseldir lifts his arms, eyes closed and with a mutter sunbeams start to break through the mist, casting away the gloom. The mist rolling apart they make their way through it and Merlin looks back to see it gone completely. The way behind is now a treacherous and impassable swamp.

"What if we need to get back in a hurry? Is there a spell that acts as a key?" Merlin asks and Mordred answers.

"Yes. Only the elders know the incantation."

Merlin frowns. "So if there were no elders, and no one knew the spell, no one would be able to enter or leave?"

"I suppose…though I'm sure someone with enough power would not need a key," Mordred gazes at Merlin a little too long before looking away. He withholds a sigh and walks slowly, trailing behind. If the elders were to die for some reason then the fate of the city would rest on his shoulders, that's what Mordred is inferring. That weight joins others he carries, responsibilities and secrets and as he lingers back he wishes he could just drop them all, turn around and walk away into the mist. Morgana turns, calling to him and he moves to her after a pause, a smile on his face. He may be a coward but not that much of one.

As the sun reaches the highest spot in the sky they reach the deepest part of the forest, the light weakly penetrating through the foliage. In front of them is a long flight of steps cut into rock, leading up to a cave. Once a temple stood atop the cave but time and war have toppled the pillars and worn down the statues. Carved into the wall of the cave are figures, women standing around a well, or so it seems to Merlin.

The stream they have been following swoops around the cave and out of sight. "The stream flows underground, feeding the water the Disir use to divine," Iseldir whispers and nods his head at Ruadan. The warrior druid withdraws his sword and lays it on a flat stone at the bottom of the stairs. Kara, Mordred and Morgana follow suit, depositing blades and other weapons. Merlin bends down and removes a dagger from his boot.

"This is a sacred place, perhaps the most sacred. Enter gently and with reverence for when we listen to the Disir we listen to the Mother," Iseldir says, which Merlin thinks is for his benefit. The others nod, their heads lowered and one by one they climb the steps and enter the cave.

As soon as Merlin enters the cool darkness, he feels a tingle run over his skin and it reminds him of the way his mother would run her fingers over his cheek when he would pretend to be asleep when he was a child. It feels teasing, light and loving and over in a moment. The air hums gently and is so full of magic he can hardly breathe. If he inhales too deeply he will dissolve into everything around him. The same air vibrates when his shoulders brush relics hanging from the ceiling, wheels and figures made of sticks and ribbons. They are offerings and every time one touches him Merlin sees those who made them as clearly as if he had been there.

Quietly overwhelmed he looks at Morgana's back, whose shoulders are not hunched up with tension any more. As they reach an opening she turns to him once, her eyes full of wonder and happiness and his heart aches. She feels as he feels, they all do and he has never felt so connected before.

"We're all the same," he mutters and smiling he enters the cavern of the Disir. In the shadows and rippling light of a pool three hooded women stand. All carry tall staffs, the ends pointed and dangerous and Merlin's sense of peace starts to ebb. Prickles of unease pass over him and he stands back as the others walk forward and stop before the Disir.

"We have come to seek council," Iseldir starts quietly, his hands clasped. "War looms and it seems that the druids must either join the fray or die. Is there no other course?"

"There are always other paths," one of the women says, speaking from the depth of her grey hood. Merlin can only see her mouth.

"But paths often lead to the same place," another says, her voice a little younger.

"We know the trouble that plagues you and it is not one that can be ignored or one you can hide from. Great changes are in store and the fate of everyone will be decided, not just the druids."

"What is the will of the Goddess?" Morgana asks and the three women stare at her for a long time without saying a word and Morgana looks down, her hands laced tightly together. Finally, they look into the pool, their heads lowered together. As one they speak again.

"To defend this land and it's people. The seeds are already planted…They will come from over the sea in their long ships and they carry those with magic. Poor wretches…Druids, knights and common folk will stand in bloody fields together, the Pendragon banner leading them. He will unite the land in war but not peace."

"King Arthur?" Mordred asks and the Disir nod.

"The Once and Future King…beware little warlock, little knight, there are those who plot your doom," the words echo around them and Merlin's blood goes cold. He stares fixedly at the ground, not wanting to direct their attention to him.

At the words of the seers Morgana grips Mordred's hand tightly. "I will protect him from harm."

"You will try and you will fail."

"No!" Morgana shouts, despair in her eyes. Mordred turns to her, making her look at him. He smiles.

"I'm a soldier Morgana, you can't prevent harm befalling me…but I will make it hard for my enemies when they try," he smiles more broadly as Ruadan grunts in agreement. Morgana cups his cheek and tries to smile but it does not reach her eyes. She looks back at the Disir, who have been silent.

"What of me? I'm the last High Priestess."

"For now…You will walk a lighter path and you will not be alone. You will know betrayal and love, revenge and forgiveness. You will be tested Morgana, the hate that sleeps in your heart will awake and if you give into it there will be no hope."

"Your redemption will save him, when all hope seems lost. Do not give in."

"…I won't," Morgana replies gutturally, shaking and Merlin wants to go to her but he feels rooted to the ground.

"What of the Saxons? When will they sail from their lands?" Ruadan asks gruffly and again the seers look into the pool.

"We see snow and ice; we see a frozen shore and blood on rocks…Beacons."

"Beacons?" Morgana asks, her previous emotion now contained. "The Saxons plan to attack during winter? That is foolish," she says and Ruadan nods,

"It's a death wish. They'll have no food and perish from the cold. No one will give them shelter."

"One will…one with fields of poison," they all utter this with contempt and Merlin lifts his head, wanting to speak but Morgana does for him.

"Amata? Sarrum would not side with an army of sorcerers."

"He already has. The vanguard was sent years ago….The little sister."

"What do you mean?" Morgana asks, exasperated, but Merlin knows, the truth suddenly coming together in his head. He speaks, unable to stop.

"The sister, the one in Amata. You never said where she was from."

"She – she never said, only that it was from over the sea," Morgana stares at him with wide eyes that are beginning to understand. "Birgit is a Saxon name."

"She's been playing Sarrum, everyone, from the start. She wants to spread that weed so that when Vortigern comes there will be a weak magical resistance. It's brilliant."

Morgana shakes her head, hand over her mouth before lowering it. "I was with that woman for two years and I never put it together. I can't believe it, she saw magic as an illness, something to be cured."

"Maybe she does," Kara says, speaking up for the first time. "You can hate what you are but still fight for your king."

Merlin looks back at the Disir, his head pounding. They have not spoken to him, maybe they do not know who he is or if they do they are keeping it to themselves. Every second he remains, he feels like he is testing that. He moves back when Morgana directs another question at the Disir.

"You mentioned beacons. What do you mean?"

"We see burning lights, great structures of mist and magic standing against the sea. We see you, Morgana, at the place of your birth. We see Albion's coast protected…but only if you agree."

"Agree to what?"

"To put your fear and hate aside, to work with him."

"With who?"

"Emrys."

Even before they uttered the name Merlin could feel it on the air, feel it in their lungs and on their tongues. He watches as Morgana tenses, her hands curling into fists. He can smell her fright.

"He – he is my enemy. He is my doom."

"He is your destiny. Your lives have been and will always be entwined…"

"Your hate will be your doom."

"And love your destiny," one of them says and Merlin feels certain this is directed at him. He wants to turn and run but he feels if he even breathes too loudly they will look at him and know.

"Albion will fall without Emrys. You will not succeed without him and he will not live without you."

"He is but one decrepit old wizard!" Morgana fires back, trying to take control but her eyes look desperate.

"He is eternal. His magic is that of the goddess, pure and limitless…This age is ending, the dawn is over and a new one will begin."

"Magic will slumber but never die, it beats with his heart which will endure from age to age…he is the might of the Mother, her warrior."

"Yet he is numb," the eldest woman says, her voice brittle and cold. "He did not feel the call of the goddess here because he is deaf to her voice…A child of the purge, the soot and the filth have fallen into his ears and eyes. He sees but shadows of his fate, his mind warped by others so he does not feel the pain and screams of the land…he has been found wanting."

"The goddess will pass judgement."

"For placing the life of the oppressor over the freedom and peace of his people, for the banality of his immorality and selfishness the goddess passes judgement."

Merlin shudders, each proclamation like a stab and he feels the full weight of their discontent. Mind reeling he tries to form some kind of defence, to make them understand that he has done everything for Albion but the words feel as insubstantial as string.

"Who is it?!" Morgana demands, her eyes blazing.

"He stands amongst you."

"He is your shadow."

"He is your lover"

"Your friend."

"Your enemy."

"No," Merlin whispers weakly, tears in his eyes but it is too late. Morgana turns as the Disir point to him and through the air a gold coin flips over and over before landing at his feet.

"The goddess passes judgement on you."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_Hi guys! Sorry about the wait for this chapter, I've been very busy. Thank you again for the response, it's been amazing!_

_As to the next chapter all I can say is hold onto your hats... O_O_


	15. Chapter 15

The coin settles at his feet, flashing in the dim light before it is utterly forgotten. What judgement can outweigh the one that he now sees on the faces before him? _Her face?_ He watches the confusion in her blue eyes turn to amused disbelief, denial and then a wounded hurt. Anger he can accept, anger he welcomes, anything but the pain that drains the blood from her face. She looks like a ghost; she looks like the broken thing he found at the bottom of a dark hole.

"Merlin?" her voice is small, lost and confused. He cannot answer, his throat dry and tight and when her wide blue eyes peer down at the coin at his feet he exhales, freed from her hurt. Free to run.

"Merlin no!" Mordred yells disapprovingly when Merlin spins around and rushes from the cavern, knocking into the hanging relics, tumbling them to the ground. He grits his teeth, his heart pounding in his ears, a terrible roaring sound and with a choking gasp he bursts out of the cave into daylight.

He has a momentary feeling of release as he gulps fresh air before someone pushes him violently from behind with a scream. He hits the stone steps, rolling down them with shuddering thumps before he comes to a stop, groaning. Hands and cheek stinging he looks back and sees Morgana standing at the mouth of the cave.

The wounded eyes are gone, only a terrible raw rage remain. He can see the whites of her eyes, her gaze unblinking. _She looks insane._ _She's going to kill me, _he thinks fleetingly before she lifts her arm, her eyes blazing with light, and he lifts his hand up instinctively. With a clap like thunder, he deflects her magic away but the force of it throws him down the remaining steps and he rolls onto the forest floor.

"LIAR!"

Her scream echoes through the cave behind her, a terrible noise and the cave seems to answer back, issuing an odd wailing that makes him shiver. Wincing in pain Merlin gets to his feet, his eyes fixed on Morgana. She wavers at the top of the steps and he thinks she's going to fall down when she lifts both her hands up, her teeth clamped together.

"Wait! Please wait!" he begs, his own hands raised in supplication. "Let – let me explain, please?"

"This can't be true. How can it be true?" she asks, her hands still raised but trembling. Her gaze flickers, a look of pleading. "Tell me it's not true?"

"I never wanted this to happen; I never wanted to hurt you."

"Do you have magic?!" she demands through clenched teeth. When he does not answer she starts to descend the steps, her hands now curled into fists. Behind her Mordred and Kara appear, looking equally nervous and concerned.

"Answer the question," Kara says with a firm coolness, her gaze hawk-like. Mordred takes her arm, shaking his head.

"Don't make it worse, this is between them."

Kara does not answer but the way she grits her teeth and shakes her head makes it plain what she thinks of that. Morgana, her chest rising and falling rapidly, approaches Merlin, who still has his hands up.

"Are you Emrys?" she asks, her voice shaking and a flash of intense fear appears in her eyes. Merlin's throat squeezes with pain, tears prickling his eyes. Even now she wants to hear that it is a mistake and he wishes more than anything that he could give her that but the time for lying is over.

"It's just a name," he utters weakly and the truth finally sinks into Morgana, her eyelashes fluttering. She goes limp; her mouth parted in shock and she begins to shake her head.

"You – you've been lying to me this whole time, for _years_…I came to you, I told you I had magic and you – you…" she falters, unable to speak aloud the weight of his betrayal. The shock starts to fizzle and the madness he had seen earlier begins to shine. She blinks and then focuses on him intently. "You _are_ Emrys…"

"No!"

"Only my enemy would do this! Only _he_ would pretend to be my friend, to pretend that he cared for me when all the while he was just like me! _You never told me_!" this comes out as a strangled scream and she slams her hands against his chest, forcing him back. He does nothing to defend himself.

"I couldn't! I couldn't tell anyone. You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you, it killed me not being able to!"

Morgana laughs at this, a high and terrible sound. "Killed you? Killed _you_?" she repeats, the ill humour burning under her rage. He has a moment to prepare, a spasm of his muscles before she is growling a curse and her eyes flash gold. He is blasted off his feet and slams into a tree, before crumbling to the ground. Pain flares up along his back and his vision swims but he makes himself look up at her.

"I won't fight you Morgana."

"Show me your magic! If this is true show me!"

Merlin inhales a breath and holds it before he extends his hand and slowly uncurls his fingers. A bunch of small white petals sit on his palm. "Orange blossom," he whispers, a strange smile on his face. "Like the tree outside the room, our room…" the flowers shudder lightly before a breeze blows them away. He folds his fingers back around nothing. Morgana stares at his empty fist until her eyes grow glassy and her body rigid and Merlin tenses, waiting for her to unleash another attack on him but she turns away instead.

"I can't look at you."

"I understand. I know you hate me and you have every reason to. I'm so, so sorry."

"Your words are nothing, _you_ are nothing," she replies, turning back to him sharply as he gets unsteadily to his feet. She glares at him, her hands gripping her dress in tight fists. Mordred and Kara stand behind her, as tense as he feels. She starts to pace before him, shaking her head from side to side. Watching her is like watching a predator, he is hypnotised but poised for any sudden movements.

"If that's what you want I'll be nothing to you, you'll never have to see me again," he says gently, trying to placate her but this is the wrong thing to say. She stops pacing and his heart cracks when he sees tears in her eyes.

"Did you care for me at all?"

"Of course I did, I still do. Morgana," he whispers her name tenderly, reaching for her and this show of affection snaps the odd restraint between them. With a snarl she suddenly grabs hold of his head, barking out a curse. A white-hot pain cracks through his mind and he screams, his knees going weak. Instinctively he defends himself without thinking, his magic surging forward and with a gasp Morgana stumbles back, vines slipping around her arms and pulling her away from him.

"Fight me!" she screams, burning the vines restraining her. She pants with the effort, her eyes growing unfocused. Whatever sickness is effecting her magic it now makes her unsteady, which makes her even angrier. Merlin reaches out to her in concern, brushing her arm, and she hisses as if burned.

"Don't touch me!"

"Please do not fight in this place," comes Iseldir's calm but firm voice and Merlin looks up to see the man at the cave entrance, Ruadan at his side. The bearded man reaches for his sword and it flies into his hand.

"Boy are you really Emrys?" he asks, looking at Merlin incredulously.

"My name is Merlin," he yells angrily. He hates the name; he hates the way they stare at him. "I'm a servant! I'm from a small village, I'm nobody important, not really! I was just born with magic! I had to hide who I was since I was a child, I couldn't tell anyone. I've been forced to lie and to keep this secret before I could even utter a spell. I polish boots and serve food, I take orders and I have done so for years! Does that sound like the _great_ Emrys to you?" he glares at them, his blood hot and rushing through his veins.

"No, that sounds like a coward," Kara answers with the same calm voice but now her eyes are intense with judgement. She is the ice to Morgana's fire.

"Kara, we've all had to hide who we are at some point. If we did not we would die and that's what Merlin has had to live with for most of his life," Mordred says gently and Merlin feels a surge of gratitude. Kara looks at him thoughtfully before looking back at Merlin.

"True but I'm not the servant to a powerful king, I am not Emrys. He is a hypocrite. Magic flows through his veins the same as ours but he does nothing to help us. You are beyond contempt," she proclaims icily and Morgana nods. Having Kara talk, possibly voicing things she is too angry and emotional to convey, gives her a chance to breathe and think rationally as she can.

"She's right. You've betrayed me, you've lied to me and I _will_ make you pay but the fact that you've been beside Arthur for a _decade_ and done nothing but polish armour and stroke his ego is unbelievable. I asked if you care for me but now I see the truth: you hate those with magic."

"That's not true," he shakes his head. "To hate those with magic would mean to hate myself."

"You must. You've had years to sway Arthur into making magic acceptable again, to stop the oppression of the druids and stop those with magic living in secret and fear. You've seen first hand the death and suffering Uther dealt out and watched as Arthur continues to do nothing to bring an end to that. _Why_? What can you say to justify this?" her words are level but forced through clenched teeth, her eyes flashing with fury. She is in unbelievable pain but is focusing on this fault of his character to gain some control. If they were not in such a sacred place the woods around them would be reduced to char and ash. Judging him, her contempt at his failing hurts more than he can believe.

"Since…since I came to Camelot, since I was a boy, I was told that Arthur would be destined to be a great king, to unite Albion and bring about a Golden Age. I was told that I had to protect him to do that. That's all I've tried to do, to help him to pave a way to a better future."

"So you've just been waiting, never lifting a finger to change anything for your own people? What future? Have you been telling yourself this for ten years? As one year follows another and nothing changes? You must be utterly deluded," Morgana shakes her head in disbelief, her disgust evident.

"It _is_ better than Uther's reign."

"My parents were slaughtered while on their knees by your just and fair Arthur during a raid on our camp," Kara's voice shakes as her composure finally cracks. She takes hold of Mordred's hand, who comforts her. The curly haired man stares at Merlin, obviously conflicted.

"They do have a point Merlin. Why haven't you tried to talk to Arthur about making a new decree? To lift the ban on magic? You wouldn't even have to share your secret to do that, at least."

"Arthur did issue an apology," Merlin starts but Ruadan snorts. He and Iseldir stand beside Mordred.

"Sorry does nothing when some ignorant farmer decides to burn a little old lady in his village at the stake because she keeps to herself and sells remedies. We've heard of it happening all over. That letter is just kindling."

Merlin grits his teeth, his ears pounding with his heartbeat. He wants to defend himself, to defend Arthur but the words will not come. The truth is he has been dreaming of a day when those with magic will be free and able to live as they wish but the reasons why are always vague. He just imagines that one day he will wake up and Arthur will accept him for who he really is. That is what Kilgarrah has told him, what Merlin has believed for years and he has clung to that. His whole life has been a dream and now he is waking up.

"Arthur will bring about a Golden Age, I'll never stop believing that…but he has to know the truth about me before that can happen. When I go back to Camelot I'm going to tell him, I have to, I promise…"

"Do you hear yourself? Do you have any idea how that sounds?" Morgana asks, frowning. "Revealing your secret first is more important than the lives of thousands of other people?"

"Of course not!"

"But those with magic will only become a priority once you've decided it's possible? Once you've shared your secret? You come first, they come second?"

"It's not like that," he stresses, his chest and head feeling like they will explode with frustration.

"What's it like?" she smiles now, a horrible teasing thing that is very familiar. "Admit it, you care nothing for those with magic, you never have. It must be nice to stay in Camelot, safe and secure and no one knowing the truth. Why would you want to risk that dream?"

"I do care! Magic should be used for good, it should be a force that makes this land better but more often than not Camelot has been targeted time and again by those who use their magic for evil. You know that," he adds, wanting to see the snarl on her face, as much as it hurts. She is not innocent, neither of them are.

"I was what others made me," she says silkily, chin lifting and then shakes her head, unconvinced by her own words. "I was consumed with hate for what I thought was taken from me and I killed for it. I was wrong; I made others suffer when they did not deserve it. I know what I was, what I did and I have paid for that," her voice cracks and her eyes grow glossy and he looks down, feeling base and small. "I only want to make a better future now but unlike _you_ I'm actively trying to do that."

Merlin looks up. "That's not true. I've fought so many battles, thwarted so many assassinations. Camelot would be a ruin, Arthur long dead if I hadn't been there. I've done all this and hardly anyone knows but I do it because Arthur is the right king to rule Camelot and Albion. I've spent the last ten years of my life making that possible."

"It seems to me that you have placed the life of the oppressor over everyone, even yourself," Kara adds with judgement. "You are an abomination and you are no longer welcome amongst the druids," Kara declares, her lip snarling but Iseldir steps forward with a stern look.

"That is not for you to say. It is also not our place to pass judgement; the goddess has done so already."

"Leave us," Morgana says suddenly and the other freeze, looking unsure. Morgana looks at Iseldir. "The goddess has passed judgement on him, our words are just reflecting that but I have private matters to discuss with Merlin. He has used me, humiliated me….please, give me privacy."

Merlin places a hand over his eyes, unable to look at her or anyone. He waits; listening to the crackle of leaves as they gradually walk away and it is only the stillness and quiet that tells him that they are alone. She is holding her breath, as he is.

"Look at me."

He has a fleeting childlike desire that when he lowers his hand, she and all the terrible truth will be gone but when he opens his eyes she is standing before him, her anger cooled. The quiet disappointment is worse somehow than her rage.

"What do you want from me? Say it and I'll do anything."

"For weeks we've been…close," she says carefully, ignoring his pleading. "I let myself get close to you, despite everything that you had done to me. I was so dependent on your help, on your support in Amata that I let myself become even weaker. I was like this little broken bird in the palm of your hand and all the while you had this secret that you knew would crush me. Is this punishment for what I did to Camelot? To Arthur?"

"No," he bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep control. "None of this was planned, I never intended to hurt you."

"I let you have me," she says, eyes narrowing dangerously before she smirks. "Goddess I actually wanted you! I knew deep down there was something different about you, something unlike anyone else but I never put it together. You must think I'm a fool."

He watches her lower her head, the smirk still on her face but pain wells up in her eyes. How had he let it get this far? He should have parted ways as soon as Morgana was with the druids. "I wanted to be your friend; I still want to be your friend, though I know that's impossible now. I went too far, I should have stopped but I couldn't because I realised something that's been haunting me since I knew you had magic, really from the moment I saw you."

"What?" she lifts her eyes, her gaze guarded and mistrustful.

"I'm not alone with you. From the moment I saw you I felt something in me…wake up. You had magic, like me and it connects me to you, in a way I can't with anyone else. There is no one but you and even if you hate me that won't change."

She is silent for a moment, her eyes widening before she laughs. "So I'm the sole receiver of your…attention? Aren't I lucky?" she sneers at him, about to turn away when he moves forward and she glares at him. He keeps his distance.

"I stopped that night because I knew if you discovered the truth it would destroy what we had built. I didn't want you to think I was using you, not like that."

"Sex doesn't change the way you feel about someone, it doesn't add or take away anything. Not in my experience," she adds wryly before pinning him with a cold look. "You've deceived me for years. I came to you when I had magic, I was frightened and you said _nothing_," she bares her teeth and angry tears prickle her eyes. "Why? Why did you do it? Why didn't you help me?"

Merlin shakes his head, rubbing the hem of his sleeve against his wet eyes. "I wanted to, I wanted nothing else. I was so alone and when I found out that you were like me…" he exhales, unable to keep the elated smile off his face at the memory of the feeling he once felt. It slowly fades at the miserable look on her face. "I was told not to tell you."

"Gaius?" she spits his name out, face twisting.

"Yes, he thought it wouldn't be safe…but he wasn't the one that convinced me."

"Then who?" she asks with a weary sadness. She is drained, all the fight and rage gone. Before the oubliette, she probably would have left him to the crows by now, but she is different.

"…The Great Dragon. The first time I came to Camelot I heard his voice in my head and I followed it to the cavern under the castle. He – he told me what I was, what my purpose was. He told me that I had a great destiny and that it was to serve Arthur. Together we would unite Albion and bring about a golden age."

"What does that have to do with me? With us?" she moves to sit on the lip of stone at the bottom of the stairs. Merlin hesitates before speaking. Finally sharing this with someone is as freeing as it is painful.

"He told me that I shouldn't trust you, that you're dangerous. He still thinks so. He says that our destinies are entwined forever, that we're two sides of a whole. Light and dark, good and evil."

Morgana has the composure to cock a sardonic eyebrow at him at this statement and he is wise enough to say nothing until silence stretches and he adds the last of the comparisons.

"The love to your hatred."

Morgana inhales, gazing at him and she smiles oddly. "Well I do hate you Merlin."

"Probably as much as I love you," he replies and the truth, a truth even more guarded than his secret has a strange effect. It feels like his chest has been cracked open and his heart laid bare. It is hers to do what she will.

Morgana shakes her head gently and looks at her lap. She remains like this for some time and he hardly breathes, waiting for her to do something; curse him, laugh at him, anything. When she finally lifts her chin she stares at him with a cool, regal disregard. His exposed heart shrivels under it.

"Go back to Camelot, I do not care. Kara is right, you're beneath contempt or anger. You've squandered your life, your destiny and what could have been between us. You can only blame yourself for how this has ended. I know the pain of that…" she trails off, thoughts inward before she rises, staring at him from under her lashes. "If we meet again I will not go easy on you Emrys," she warns and he shakes his head, heart pounding,

"I'm not your enemy."

"You're Emrys and that's all you are to me now."

"No. You've got to listen to me."

"No. I won't listen to another word. Mordred will go to Camelot and speak to Arthur. I can only hope that he will be the wizard, the man, which you should have been. Unlike you he's not a coward. I hope Arthur sees that and casts you out and then you'll have to learn and live the truth that those you've forsaken have to face each day."

"Mordred?" he barks, unable to keep the panic and fear at bay. "He's the last person to be at Arthur's side."

"You fear him, don't you?" she smiles thoughtfully before nodding. "Then I will stop at nothing to make sure Mordred has a place at Camelot, though I will likely need to do nothing. He will prove himself worthy, everything you are not…" she smiles in a motherly way and turns to leave. Merlin reaches out to touch her but pulls back, though it kills him.

"Please don't leave it like this."

"I could kill you, you should be thankful. I admit I'm curious to see what Arthur will do with you..." she smiles, a wicked thing but it does not reach her wounded eyes. Before she leaves she stares over his shoulder thoughtfully. "I think the dragon was wrong, he chose the wrong boy with magic. _Mordred_ will lead Albion into a Golden Age, not you. Mark these words Emrys and never forget."

Her final utterance rings in his ears, deeply prophetic and they make his blood run cold and roar in his ears, like a winter sea. He watches her go, his heart exploding with anguish.

"We have to be together! You heard the seers! We have to work together to stop the Saxons!"

"Never, I'll die before I let myself trust you again. Goodbye Emrys, I hope we won't meet again, for your sake."

"My name is Merlin!"

His cries echo strangely, alone, angry and weak and when he looks down he sees the golden coin. A symbol of his past failures and of his impending future he picks it up and, with a roar of helpless rage, he throws it into the woods.

No one will dictate his life anymore, not anyone, not even the Goddess.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_;_;_

_They pull no punches with Merlin. it might seem harsh but really the writers on the show made Merlin's characterisation suffer for the sake of the status-quo: keeping his magic secret. Emrys has some lost time to make up for..._

_Don't worry guys, this just adds another layer of angst to their relationship. Its going to take hard work but I can't wait to explore their dynamic now that everything is out in the open._

_Thanks again for the great response! :)_


	16. Chapter 16

The smell of smoke brings him up from a groggy sleep. Merlin, covered in his cloak, lifts his head with a wince. It pounds, after hours of ceaseless thinking and a fair amount of crying. Now he has no more tears to give, no more emotion left to spend. He is empty and the process seems to have left something hard behind.

He had found a cave after wandering aimlessly; trying to escape the coin but it followed him wherever he went. He finally found the cave and slept in it as night fell. He rises, rubbing his eyes and peers out. Sitting around a small campfire is Iseldir and Mordred, who is cooking a rabbit. Merlin hesitates, wary but then moves to them.

"What are you doing here?"

"We thought you might be hungry," Iseldir says, motioning for him to sit. Merlin remains standing.

"You didn't answer my question."

"We're here because we chose to be. What was said was said, I'm not here to add any more pain to what you already feel," Iseldir stares at him with a gentle acceptance and Merlin sits after a pause. Mordred smiles, motioning to two horses that Merlin had not noticed.

"I'm hoping to accompany you back."

"Back? To Camelot?"

"If you decide to return," Mordred stares at him with large, guileless eyes and Merlin is powerfully reminded of Aithusa. How could this man lead to the death of Arthur and the ruination of a kingdom?

"Do you think I should?" he asks grudgingly and Mordred answers without hesitation.

"Yes but the decision is yours. You've had a rough day and I'm sorry that you're suffering…but this is a good thing," he adds softly, humming a little.

Merlin snorts, stripping meat from his rabbit bone. "I always thought you were a weird kid."

Mordred smirks briefly before dropping it, his gaze serious. "This day was always going to come and now it's over. Now you decide what path to take."

Merlin looks up at him, a flare of irritation burning through him. It is misplaced, this is not Mordred's fault but he feels it all the same. "Path? All the paths I see end either in my exile or death."

"You really think Arthur would execute you?"

Merlin opens his mouth to answer and then shuts it. He has no idea but he can imagine the rage that Arthur will feel will be white hot enough for violence. Merlin flings his bone into the fire where it cracks and blackens. Mordred shakes his head.

"I don't think he will. He might banish you but kill you? If he's this great, preordained king it would be disappointing if he chops off the head of his most faithful, long standing advisor. That wouldn't be someone I would follow and I don't think if you really believe it you would have spent your life there."

Iseldir nods as he stands to tend to the horses. "Fate can decree great heroes but that is not enough to grant worth. They have to prove it, day to day, in their acts and choices…and that applies to all men, from king to druid."

"So if Arthur proves worthy enough I won't end the day with my neck in a noose?" he jokes but his heart is burning. His very life depends on what Arthur will choose but for all his misgivings and doubts Mordred is right. He believes Arthur will act on what he thinks is the right thing to do. He may hate him for lying but for having magic? They have spent ten years together. Will that prove irrelevant in light of the truth?

Standing, Merlin stares at the white horse tethered to the tree, his gaze burning. Yesterday Morgana found out the truth and any chance of a life with her seems impossible and now he must do the same again? It all feels too much. He stares at Mordred, who despite the sombre mood appears excited to be going to Camelot. Odd, when he only experienced death and persecution there…and deliverance. He would be dead if it weren't for Arthur. For Morgana…

"How is she?"

Mordred's dreamy smile falls. "…I've given her some space. Once I told her and Kara I knew the truth about you all along…well, there's a reason I'm here," he utters sheepishly and Merlin smiles weakly. He can imagine the ear lashing he received, though Morgana clearly loves him too much to hold onto a grudge. Her displeasure will pass. He wishes it were the same for him.

"I want to see her but I know distance is what she needs…" he mutters, despondent as Mordred settles on his horse. Merlin looks at the white mare, unsure.

"The choice to go back or not is up to you," Mordred says simply and Merlin sighs, rubbing his eyes again.

"I feel I've so few choices and the ones I thought were mine are made by others. I've wanted to tell Arthur for so long but with each passing year it became so hard. It was never the right time."

"Telling him the truth should be your doing but I will tell you this," Mordred say darkly, leaning over in his saddle. "Morgana is angry enough to tell Arthur herself just to spite you."

"Great…" he can't feel angry at her, he deserves it and more. Mordred straightens as Merlin climbs up and sits on the saddle. "I'll accompany you to Camelot, you can convince me along the way to keep going."

"Fine, I'll start now. You won't be alone when you tell Arthur the truth. I want to be a knight of Camelot but I won't hide who and what I am. Arthur can agree to side with us or not but together we will be stronger."

"So we're both going to reveal our magic? Don't you fear execution?"

"Well if he decides to kill me then that will reveal quickly what sort of man he is," he smirks darkly but Merlin continues to gaze at him seriously.

"Then why risk it?"

"Because like you I believe that Arthur can make a difference, but that can only happen with people like us at his side. No more hiding, on more secrets. Albion cannot survive without us and he must accept that."

Merlin stares at Mordred without speaking and the suspicion and dread that he has felt for years seems to hover above him, no longer weighing him down. It is still there, he probably will never trust the young man completely but he feels a stab of regret at his unfounded reproach. When he offers his hand to Mordred the curly haired man blinks before shaking it.

"Whatever happens remember that you are not alone," Iseldir says as they are about to ride away. "Your freedom is before you, if you fight for it. Good luck."

Merlin nods at Iseldir once before looking at the path. He has considered himself free for a long time and with that dream had come a sense of complacency. True freedom is fear, it's letting the wind take you up and away, trusting the river to keep you afloat as it carries you to unknown places. Once that fear in confronted he assumes that a peace comes when you accept that your life is not controllable. The druids possess that peace. One day he may too and as they trot back to Camelot he makes his first attempt at letting the wind take him.

* * *

As they pass through the thinning trees of the Darkling Wood the white walls of Camelot gleam in the sunlight. It has been weeks since he had left the citadel but it feels much longer. Trepidation had accompanied him with the thudding of his horses' hooves and as he sees two knights on horseback along the path that feeling floods through him, sending a prickling sensation over his skin until it dissolves. He straightens his back and gives Mordred a glance, wishing he possessed the calmness that surrounds the druid. As the knights come closer Merlin smiles. Gwaine and Percival slow, their hands raised in greeting.

"You're a sight for sore eyes. We weren't sure if you were ever coming back. We spent days trying to find a way into the city. Glad you're in one piece at least," Gwaine says, smiling weakly but it falls quickly. Merlin looks at the other knight, who looks strained.

"What's wrong?"

"The king has fallen ill."

"What?!" Merlin inhales sharply, jerking on the reins and urges his horse forward before Gwaine can explain. The knights and Mordred race after him, Gwaine shouting over the thunder of their horses.

"A few days after he and the queen returned he got sick, but wouldn't allow anyone to treat him. We thought it was a summer cold, thought it would pass…"

"He's worse?"

"He collapsed a week ago and has been bed ridden since then. He sleeps mostly and when he wakes he…well he speaks nonsense," Gwaine finishes, casting a troubled glance at Percival who has been silent. Merlin grits his teeth as they reach the courtyard and jumps off the horse before it stops.

All fear and worry about magic is forgotten, his mind blaring with anxiety for Arthur. He races through the castle, passing startled looking servants and ignoring hasty greetings from knights. He just sees streaks of red and faces before he comes to the royal chambers, which is quiet and still.

He stops, his heart thudding against his rib cage. He inhales deeply before entering and sees Leon standing by the wall. He smiles at him as he approaches and Merlin nods before staring at the bed. Gwen is sat in a chair beside the bed, her eyes fixed on Arthur's pale sleeping face. He had not known what to expect but seeing the rise and fall of the king's chest seems to allow him to breathe too. Gaius is not here but he can guess he must be exhausted. His mentor, though as sharp as ever, is growing old and frail.

Leon moves to his side, speaking softly. "He sleeps mostly, eats little…the queen stays as often as she can but..."

"But there's Camelot to consider," he finishes for him and Gwen lifts her head, blinking in surprise.

"Merlin! I didn't hear you come in," she smiles, a great breath of relief shuddering from her and forgetting all protocol she rises and pulls him into a tight hug. "I tried to get word to you but it was impossible. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. What happened?" he asks, as he pulls away and they stare down at Arthur. But for dark circles around his eyes and a pale complexion he appears healthy and Gwen tells him as much.

"We came back to Camelot a few weeks ago. On the way we both felt a little ill but we put it down to the journey – the carriage, the boat and so on…but then he just got weaker and weaker…" her eyes grow glossy and Merlin takes her hand. At the touch she turns to face him, her gaze troubled and desperate.

"Can – can you help him?" she whispers and Merlin swiftly eyes Leon, who looks mesmerised by a painting on the wall. Merlin stares back at Gwen, his heart hammering. She winces in guilt.

"I'm sorry, I had to tell someone. After he fell ill I felt like I would explode. Leon was there…" she smiles at the knight, who gazes at Merlin with a gentle stoic expression.

"It's true? You have magic?"

"…Yes," Merlin says and uttering that one simple word feels like a great wall has been tumbled down. He grips Gwen's hand tightly and she squeezes back. Leon nods and then smiles. Merlin supposes he and Gwen have had time to talk it through between them. He's just relieved he's not being dragged to the dungeons.

"I must say a lot is starting to make sense…can you make sense of this," he motions to Arthur and Merlin moves closer to the king, letting go of Gwen's hand. He leans over the bed, staring at the king's face before laying his hand on Arthur's forehead. He is cool to the touch.

"There's no fever…"

"No…he just sleeps and grows weaker. Gaius thinks he may have been poisoned," Gwen says softly, her hands clasped below her chin.

Merlin nods. "Amata. It was probably a trap all along. Sarrum seems to be in league with the Saxons in some way. He could have poisoned Arthur but used something that is slow to act, to avoid accusation. Something similar has happened to Morgana," he adds suddenly.

"Morgana?" Arthur mutters below them and Merlin stiffens. Arthur smiles, his eyelashes fluttering. "She's taken my chain mail and sword again father…" he utters sleepily before growing silent. Merlin leans back.

"I'll try to heal him," he places his hand back against Arthur's forehead and, closing his eyes, he utters a spell. The heat of his magic flows and pools against their skin before it seeps into the king, searching for the ailment to burn it away but as his magic delves, spreading through veins and blood, Arthur inhales a sharp breath of pain and Merlin jerks back immediately.

"What is it?"

"The spell makes it worse," he explains, feeling sick. Something similar happened to Uther when he tried to save him. His magic only made it worse. Again he thinks of Morgana, the idea that whatever is making Arthur sick is linked to her growing stronger. But it is Morgana's magic that is being targeted, Arthur has none…

_That is not entirely true…_

"Arthur was conceived by magic," he mutter and Gwen frowns.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Merlin," she says in exasperation and he feels a swell of prickly guilt. The reaction to lie is as easy and normal as breathing. It will be a long time before it feels comfortable sharing the truth.

"I think someone has put an enchantment on Arthur and Morgana, something that is linked to magic, something that makes them sick…"

"Well, are you sick?" she asks sensibly and Merlin shakes his head. "Then what?"

"They're Pendragons," a voice say behind them and Mordred stands in the doorway. Merlin had forgotten about him. The young druid hesitates before Gwen motions for him to enter. He stares down at Arthur sadly.

"You think Sarrum wants to hurt us?" Gwen asks and Mordred frowns.

"I think he may want you out of the way. Vortigern and his forces are gathering and are getting ready to strike. With the king disposed…"

"There's still the queen," Leon responds and Merlin can't help but smile. Gwen frowns in thought, her fingers laced through Arthur's.

"I am a Pendragon by marriage but I don't feel ill…well, not any more," she adds, sharing a look with Leon. Her hand hovers by her stomach before she curls it into a fist. She lifts her head and asks for everyone in the chamber to leave except Merlin. When they are alone Gwen clears her throat and lifts her chin, even as her mouth trembles. "Are you able to check me, as you did Arthur?"

"Of course," he says softly and motions for her to sit. Gwen does, her back ramrod straight. Merlin places his palm against her forehead and she closes her eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He whispers a spell and she gasps a little at the heat now flooding through her. Merlin sees the problem immediately and wishes that he could tell her everything is okay but as she opens her eyes and gazes at the sadness in his she nods in acceptance.

"I suspected something was wrong but with Arthur I didn't really give it much thought, didn't want to," she smiles even as tears well in her eyes. "There's no danger of the Pendragon line continuing if there's no heir."

"I'm so sorry Gwen," he whispers, getting down on his knees and she nods, looking away before she sinks into his arms. She cries for what seems like hours, all the worry, pain and anger pouring out of her until she sits back limply in the chair. Merlin kneels beside her, his thumb rubbing over her hand, sending pulses of magic at the touch without thinking about it.

"I will find a way to fix this, I promise. They'll pay."

"I know you'll do what you can," she says with a weak smile and Merlin nods.

"You should get some sleep, I'll stay with Arthur. Tomorrow I'll speak to Gaius about finding a remedy."

Gwen nods, letting Merlin lead her to a palette near to Arthur bed. As she sits she gazes at him thoughtfully. "How did it go? I forgot to ask."

"The druids?"

"Do they want to help us fight the Saxons?"

Merlin pauses before speaking. "I think it's more they want to offer _us_ the chance to work with them. They fight for their land with or without us…but Mordred is right, we're stronger together."

Gwen nods, yawning and curls onto the makeshift bed. It seems odd for a queen but she's lived longer as servant then even he has. Some things do not leave you, feather mattress or not.

"Goodnight Merlin. I'm so happy you're back," she grips his hand before he smiles and blows out the candle above her.

"Me too."

* * *

Weeks pass and Arthur does not improve. Merlin and Gaius spend their days pouring through old books, looking for a possible remedy for Arthur but it is useless if they do not know what poison to look for, if there even is one. He organises a search for poppets and other cursed relics hidden around the castle. They find three, all dry and dormant with age and no harm to anyone now. He asks Gwen to remember the foods they ate, what they drank, when they both fell ill and what the symptoms were. She does this eagerly, the answers coming quickly because she has been over thinking this for weeks.

But nothing changes. At the start Gwen had watched him with a guarded wonder as he uttered spells, his eyes glowing gold but when she realised that he had no magic to cure either Arthur or herself her awe dimmed, though her gratitude at his efforts never wavered. Angry and disappointed Merlin watches Mordred train with the knights upon the field. The druid had told the knights that he possessed magic and waited with a forced calm for either acceptance or rejection. Gwaine had eyed Gwen, who Merlin had badgered to take some air. She had nodded once and the knights had agreed, albeit mutely.

The Knights of the Round Table, though courteous, just and fair still looked upon those with magic with distrust and even revulsion. The knee jerk reaction to take up arms, to be wary was hammered into each of them even before they picked up a sword. The knights will practice with Mordred, train him, but Merlin can see that he is not one of them, at least not yet.

But he is trying, his enthusiasm and hope clear for all to see. There is no duplicity or ulterior motive here, Mordred wants to be a knight and he wants to use his magic to save Camelot and the rest of Albion. As the sweaty and tired knights go about packing up their gear, Leon nudges Mordred and the blue-eyed man blinks before smiling. He lifts a hand, his eyes shining gold and the swords, chain mail and other equipment stack into neat piles under the training tent. Gwaine looks at him in surprise before he laughs and claps. Merlin notes that others look away, their expressions troubled.

"I knew having a druid around was good for something."

"Think of the time we could save on the field," Leon says, his eyes shining as he imagines it. "The tactical advantage of a well-placed druid…and others," he adds, eyeing Merlin who continues to stare with a passive face. Gwen, who had joined him on a stroll, stares at him thoughtfully.

"It's like you're wearing a mask."

"It's just my face."

"But it's not expressing what you really feel. I understand why you had to do so before but you don't have to hide anything from me. Magic has just been freely used before our knights to help them. It should be celebrated," she looks at Mordred with a smile, as he shares a joke with Leon and Gwaine. With Arthur bedridden and her own barrenness plaguing her nights she has focused on aligning with the druids, encouraging the town to slowly accept magic bit by bit. She had done this by organising a celebration of Samhain, the first time it has been a public affair for more then thirty years. He hopes her efforts will pay off.

"I am happy…I suppose it's just second nature. When you became queen how hard was it for you not to bow?" he asks suddenly, and Gwen narrows her eyes before smirking.

"Arthur told me that I should put a ruler down my back to stop myself…" she trails off, her smile fading. She gazes over the rooftops of the town. "At first it was hard, I had a steep learning curve, I knew it wouldn't be easy. I have a responsibility, a heavy one…but more than that. I _want_ to be queen. Now there's no confusion or uncertainty. I suppose that's the question, who do you want to be Merlin?"

"Just myself…well, I suppose _more_ of myself."

Gwen laughs and takes his hand. "When Arthur wakes I know he will come around to the truth. It may take time but…"

"I know. As soon as I find a cure the first thing he's going to see when he wakes is the floor sweeping itself."

"He'll go back to sleep, thinking he's dreaming. Maybe something a little more…obvious."

Merlin nods, looking back at the training field, where a few knights remain. As he and Gwen are about to turn away a horn blares through the air and shouts from the high battlements ring aloud. Merlin looks up, watching knights and servants hanging out of the windows, pointing and he turns back as a cry rises.

"DRAGON!"

Merlin scans the sky and through a scuff of cloud a white shape emerges, winging her way closer. Aithusa. Dread pools at the pit of his stomach as the knights race forward, already positioning a large slingshot. They buffet around Mordred, who begs them to stop.

"Hold your fire!" Merlin yells and after a beat Gwen joins him but the iron ball is already flying through the air towards her. Aithusa swerves aside, avoiding being struck but she pulls back and defends herself. A great billow of fire descends on the knights and Merlin, the Dragon Lord, starts to roar before he can think.

"STOP! LISTEN TO ME! STOP!" his voice, now rumbling through the entire castle, makes everyone freeze before they turn to stare at him. He stands on the wall, an oddly striking figure in red and black, his hand outstretched as Aithusa hovers before him. Her eyes dart from side to side. She is frightened. Merlin keeps his arm outstretched and the dragon moves closer until he can feel the heat from her mouth. His fingers brush her snout and she lands on the parapet, her wings folding against her sides.

"You – you can control her?" Gwen asks, wide eyed at his display of power.

"I'm a Dragon Lord…She didn't mean to attack, she was frightened and defending herself. She's been through a lot but she has a good heart…" he says affectionately and then looks at the field below. The knights are looking up at him, their expressions ranging from astonishment to dismay. He grips the stone below him, his mind reeling. He used to be so careful, he had so many lucky escapes where they looked away at the right time or did not hear. They have heard and seen everything now. If Arthur were to wake up Merlin thinks a part of him would laugh to be the last one to know. If he wakes…Aithusa nudges his arm and he looks at her calming eyes and for the first time she speaks aloud.

"_Morgana is coming_."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_Again sorry for the wait and thank you for your patience. _

_So the truth is out to everyone but Arthur...Merlin/Morgana drama next..._


	17. Chapter 17

Guinevere gives orders and the knights below them race towards the courtyard. Most jump into action immediately but those who have known Merlin the longest are slow to react, staring up at him with expressions ranging from disbelief to anger. Heart hammering and his mind whirling – _they know, they know_ \- he tears his gaze away and turns to Gwen as she tugs on his arm.

"I don't think she's going to attack you," Merlin says as they rush to the courtyard, knights running ahead of them.

"Then why do you look so worried?"

Merlin says nothing, his teeth clenched as above them Aithusa swoops overhead and lands in the middle of the courtyard before the knights. The men tense, their swords and spears wavering but they do not strike at the dragon, who crouches low, smoke spiralling from her nostrils. The clattering of horse hooves thunder as Morgana, Ruadan and Kara appear.

"Kara?" Mordred steps forward, breaking the line of knights. Gwaine orders him to step back and after a pause he does, his face set. Merlin, who has not seen Morgana for weeks, avoid eye contact, as if she's a wild animal that should not be stared directly at. But as she slides from her horse she pins her gaze to him and he is stuck.

Since coming back to Camelot he has expected her to attack him, to seek her vengeance but day after day came with no sign of her. As the ache in his chest grew worse he realised that he wanted her to come, even if it was to try to kill him. The tension has been unbearable and it unravels a little at the sight of her. He has missed her.

"What are you doing here?" Guinevere asks, directing her question at Morgana and she breaks her searing eye contact with Merlin. Her blue eyes seem to soften, her expression thoughtful, even relieved. The knights with their weapons and expressions of mistrust may be statues for all the concern she shows for them.

"I had a vision and it was very clear. You attack Amata with a great force that leaves Camelot undefended and vulnerable. Vortigern takes it, the battle with Sarrum a diversion, a distraction to get you away from here…" she looks up at the walls, standing in a pool of refracted light cast from a window. She looks pale but beautiful, and Merlin knows with certainty she has been scrying at the crystals and it has taken her strength. She is relentless.

"After he takes the citadel the sorceresses who follow him march on the city, _our_ city," Ruadan explains grimly and Merlin nods. Camelot may be Vortigern's goal but for those who follow him it is the city of Moridunum, the very heart of magic in Albion.

Merlin risks a question. "In your vision was Arthur there?"

Morgana stiffens, her gaze sweeping across him before focusing on Gwen. It seems after staring him down she's pretending he's not there. "Yes…but he falls in battle. I don't know if he survives."

If she expects sadness at this news she is surprised when Merlin smiles. "He's awake in the future."

Gwen nods, unsmiling. "Why tell us? After all your attempts to take Camelot how do I know you won't decide to side with Vortigern?"

Merlin tenses, waiting Morgana to lash out but she gazes at Gwen in silence, her eyes becoming unfocused. She opens her mouth to speak, trying to defend herself until she shakes her head and inhales.

"There's nothing I can say that will make you trust me but If I show you something at least you'll know I have no desire to take the city from you…or anything else that is yours," she adds a little wryly and Gwen stares at her carefully before she nods and orders her knights to stand down. They do, casting confused looks between them.

Merlin exhales and then stiffens when Morgana steps directly in front of him. She smiles pleasantly and Merlin prepares for an attack.

"It's been three weeks and you're still alive. I can only assume you never told him."

"I would if he could understand," Merlin replies, keeping his place. The knights are watching them, their hands tight around sword hilts. "We suspect he's been p-poisoned," he stutters, licking his lips and Morgana's eyes flash, a flutter of old damage.

"Do the others know?"

"Yes," Gwen answers, looking between them in concern. Do the others sense the tension between them? Because Merlin feels like he will shatter apart with it. He wants, _needs_ something to make it fall.

"This was likely the start of it," Kara says from behind them. "Sarrum attacks the king and Camelot declares war. We could have kept this information to ourselves and left you to your fate," she adds, at the knights' look of distrust. "We're here to help you," she sounds as enthused as they look.

"Then prove it," Gwaine says. "Help the king."

Merlin nods, staring at Morgana but she looks aside, her expression troubled as she clutches the healing bracelet on her wrist. Merlin feels a swell of pity for her, knowing that the affliction that is hindering her magic is still present. Maybe he moves too close to her, maybe he says her name too softly, too tenderly because in a moment too quick to process she hisses and Merlin grabs her wrist as a great wind begins to whirl around him. The knights and druids rush back, shouting out their names. Aithusa takes to the sky, crying in alarm.

"Stop! I know you're angry at me but now isn't the time!" Merlin grabs for her, struggling.

"Then leave! Leave and let Mordred take your place! I can't bare being near you!" she yells, her teeth clenched with the effort to keep the spell going, as Merlin fights to keep it from casting him into the air and to another location. She could send him out to sea if she felt like it. A prickly anger rushes over his skin and with a growl he slams his fist against the flagstones and the entire courtyard shakes. Morgana gasps, losing control of the spell and she grabs at his shoulder as it shoots above their heads and disappears into the sky, a whirlwind of rags and leaves.

A hush falls over the courtyard as Merlin remains on one knee, Morgana gripping his shoulder before she make a noise of disgust and pushes him, but there is no strength in it. She wavers, the blood gone from her face but she manages to keep on her feet. Aithusa lands and nudges Morgana's side.

"You don't deserve to be here," she says weakly, her eyes glossy. "You squandered everything."

Merlin wonders if the words are directed at him or herself. Either way another verbal attack is about to be unleashed and he will crack if he has to hear another word. He gets to his feet, feeling awful but through that emotion comes another, stronger and more powerful. He's had enough. "I've spent my life protecting who I thought I was meant to. Time and again we've been attacked and I've stopped those I could but there were always more. I have had a decade of that and I have done what I could to help people. I'm _one_ person, I'm not a king or a leader. I make mistakes, stupid and deadly ones and I hurt those I love," his voice shakes here but he carries on. "You all expect something of me, to bring those with magic out of oppression as if I had the ability to do so single handed. If you wanted this change so badly why didn't _you_ do something? Why is this my sole responsibility and so my fault?" he looks at Morgana and then the other druids, who remain quiet. "Arthur's his own man, if he wanted to lift the ban on magic he would have done so years ago but he hasn't because the truth is magic is dangerous."

At this speech, which grew more and more angry and frustrated, those gathered look at each other, lost for words until Mordred speaks up.

"Magic is dangerous, I don't think anyone is denying that but the view of it has been warped after years of fear and propaganda. People only see harm and destruction and those who want to help are too scared to show them what good we can do."

"And is that my fault?"

"No, of course not. We know you're just a man and having magic or having a title doesn't make you any more heroic or better than anyone else," Mordred says as Morgana rolls her eyes behind him. "But one selfless deed, one showcase of acceptance and help can change a person's life, at how they view the world. I can vouch for that."

"Those changes can only happen if you have the will and courage to do it. I never expected you to single handily change the fortune of those with magic, and if I had not been so consumed with my own hate and rage I would have helped you Merlin," Morgana says, her voice wavering. "I suppose you were consumed as I was, blinded to what really mattered, but in a different way..." she looks haunted but then her gaze becomes sharp. "Arthur is his own man but you are his advisor aren't you? Or is that just a meaningless title too?"

Merlin breathes heavily through his nose, his hands clenched at his sides. For years he has denied the similarities between himself and Morgana but her words strike home. He looks down and feels the coin of judgement weighing heavy in his pocket. He can't make up for the past and he is tired of the circles of blame they are going in. He grips the coin and looks up, his gaze fixed and heavy.

"I'm not blind to what is important. Arthur needs to be saved and the beacons need to be built to protect Albion. That's what I'm going to use my magic to achieve. You can stay here and be angry at me, I deserve it for what I did to you but the past is over and I can't make up for it. I'm done with it and I want to move forward…I just wish you were at my side."

So saying he walks up the steps to the castle and does not look back.

* * *

That night the townsfolk rush from one house to another, they meet in _The Rising Sun_ tavern and whisper about the druids, the white dragon spotted flying around the castle and Morgana, the witch who many thought long dead and glad for it. Even more strange to hear is that the King's personal servant might have magic and has had it for years, right under their noses. They cast dark looks at the castle and huddle together.

In his small room Merlin tosses and turns until he rises and walks through the shadowy castle. The day had been spent with Gwen and Morgana in talks, talks that he had been absent from. His presence upsets her and so he had seen himself out but not before Mordred promised to keep him up to date. Morgana wish is coming true; the boy is going to take his place. But only for now…As he passes the royal quarters he hears a muffled sound and moves closer, frowning. It sounds like someone is crying quietly. Candle light illuminates the wall, the door open and, curious, Merlin moves closer.

"I'm so sorry, so sorry that happened to you," Gwen whispers gutturally, her throat thick with tears. She sits opposite Morgana, who has her fingers pressed gently to Gwen's temples. Merlin tenses, on alert but he stays still.

"I haven't been able to tell anyone, not even Kara or Mordred. I don't have the words…I'm sorry you had to see what happened but I need you to believe me…you do, don't you?" she asks as she pulls her hands away. Gwen nods, wiping tears from her face with the hem of her sleeve. She looks drained, like she has seen horrors unimaginable and Merlin can guess what Morgana made her see.

"We never knew, we thought you were dead. If I had known…" she shakes her head, exhaling a shaky breath. She looks devastated and furious. Merlin wonders how lonely Gwen has been since becoming queen, what other woman she can turn to. Servants tuned queens likely do not have many friends to boast of. Neither do servants turned magicians...

"You probably would have left me there because you wouldn't have known the…details. The people would think I deserve it," she motions her head to the window and the fading lights of the town.

"I don't know, the people are still hurt, still fearful…but if we had known we would have come, no matter our past," Gwen reaches for her hands and smiles at her face sadly. "I never hated you, neither did Arthur. We knew you had to be stopped, that you were angry but it seemed like a storm, nothing could temper it…but it would pass."

"I never thought that rage would leave me but it has...it was smothered like a fire with no air," she explains darkly and she touches her throat before lowering her hand.

"You seem angry at Merlin?"

"That anger is righteous," Morgana says icily but then she deflates, her shoulders slumping. "We were together for a time, he helped me and I let myself…I was weak," she finishes, her jaw clenching. "I trusted him, after he hurt me and he broke that trust again."

Gwen nods, her thoughts inward. "He…he has lied for a long time. There was always something different about Merlin but I could never put my finger on it. He was just my friend…I understand why he never said but I can't imagine what fate he honestly thought he would face if we knew."

Morgana offers a weak smile. "The fear of who you are runs deep. The truth makes you vulnerable, distrustful and paranoid about how others perceive you. I can understand that…I sometimes imagine how things could have been different, if I had told you about my magic first and then Merlin. If he had told me the truth all our lives would be so different..." she looks into the fire, gaze far away until she looks over her shoulder sharply. "Someone is standing outside."

_Damn it_. Merlin steps back but then stills with a guilty smile when Gwen opens the door. She narrows her eyes and then exhales, moving to let him in. Morgana stands, watching his every move.

"I wanted to check on the king. Gaius is visiting Alice..." Merlin suspects the old physician is days away from retirement and likely would have done so weeks ago if Arthur had not fallen ill.

"I've examined him," Morgana says loudly, chin lifting as if waiting for him to challenge her abilities. He doesn't, her power to heal supersedes his.

"What did you find?"

"It's undetectable, there's no way of knowing what antidote to give him…so there's only one way to cure him," she adds, looking at Gwen who nods.

"What?"

"The Cup of Life."

Merlin's mouth parts and he makes an odd noise. "You can't be serious?"

"Water collected from the cup will heal any malady, even those seconds from death."

"I know that! But it requires a life in return, to keep the balance."

"Only if the person is near death. Gwen tells me that a knight was once healed and with no price to pay. Arthur is ill but not gravely but if we leave him any longer he will be."

Gwen watches the exchanges firing across the bed until Merlin finally nods, giving in. He looks down and feels his heart leap. Arthur is awake and smiling, his gaze unfocused but clearly directed at Morgana.

"You came back."

"Arthur?"

"You look terrible."

"You can talk," Morgana replies with a smirk and after a moment she sits by his side, her fingers hovering over his hand. "How do you feel?"

"…Sleepy. Drunk, actually," he adds with a slurring laugh before he falls silent. His gaze becomes focused, sad. "I knew you would come back one day. I've been waiting…such a long time."

Morgana leans down, whispering. "I was waiting but I think I hid too well for you to find me."

Arthur nods, closing his eyes. "Always beat me at hide and seek…Morgana?" he opens his eyes, jerking upright and his eyes focus on Merlin. He grins.

"There you are. Make sure that my sister…that my sister is looked after while she - she stays."

"…I will."

"No funny business," the king warns and smiles. "He always liked you, you know. Leaving flowers and cakes at your door..." he says to Morgana who shifts on the bed, not looking at Merlin.

"Don't be silly. He's just a servant," she says but it catches in her throat and she looks away.

"Yeah…good one though…sometimes."

"Sometimes…he saved me, I mean he found me," she utters, leaning down closer, her hand know tightly over Arthur's.

"Beat me to it…" Arthur sighs, growing weaker and Morgana stares at his wane face. Arthur opens his eyes once more, looking as lucid as Merlin has seen him in weeks. "He wants the throne back."

"Who? Vortigern?" Morgana smiles. "He can't have what was never his," she says gently and Arthur shakes his head in frustration.

"No, no. Constantine, the eagle, the standard…my grandfather," he struggles to stay awake but the effort drains what littler strength he has and he falls back onto the pillows, unconscious. Merlin places his hand against the king's sweaty forehead.

"He's sleeping but his strength is failing more each day. We have to act," he looks at Gwen, who sits by Arthur as Morgana stands and begins to pace. "Who is Constantine?" Merlin asks and Morgana turns to answer.

"The king that Uther's father overthrew. Camelot was his before any Pendragon banners flew overhead. Before it was a black eagle on a red field."

Merlin nods, the pieces coming together as he remembers the banner hanging on a wall by the throne room. He had never given it a second thought. "I thought they were wiped out?"

"So many thought but there was talk that a princess escaped the siege and slaughter. Maybe she went east and hid amongst the Saxons…"

"And now Vortigern wants to reclaim what he thinks is his," Gwen says wearily, staring down at her husband's face. Now more than ever they needed Arthur well and on his feet.

"Could be a pretender?" Merlin suggests and the women nod but no one looks convinced. Vortigern is going to too much trouble to reclaim a kingdom thousands of miles away from his own. This is not just a mad dash for power. It's personal.

"I do not want war and neither does Arthur. Talks must be arranged, to see what this man wants," Gwen stands, every inch a queen. Vortigern may be the reason she is now barren but she is putting her pain aside to avoid even more. "But first the Cup of Life has to be found."

"Ah…" Merlin scratches his head as they both stare at him. "It's not actually lost, I've just put it somewhere, for safe keeping."

"Where?" Morgana demands.

"The Perilous Lands."

"Are you insane?" Morgana shouts, throwing her hands up.

"Possibly. I thought Camelot would be at risk if it was here in the vaults. The druids couldn't keep it safe so I thought if someone wants it badly enough they would face the risks of getting it."

There is a slight clause to this arrangement but they are looking at him in varying degrees of exasperation so he keeps it to himself. Before he hid the Cup in a castle he had put a powerful spell over it, one of the most powerful he had ever uttered. Only someone who is worthy enough can actually use the cup. If he and Morgana managed to get to the place in one piece they may never actually be able to bring any water back.

"So where is it?" Gwen asks, pulling Merlin from his thoughts.

"Corbenic.'"

"I'm going. This will take magic." Morgana prepares to leave but Merlin moves past her.

"I'm going with you."

"I don't need you."

"I'm sorry but you do. This journey does need someone with magic but we both know you're not as strong as you were. Also, you don't know what else I've set around the castle."

Morgana stops, eyes narrowing. "You made the Perilous Lands even more perilous?"

"Well…yes."

"You're impossible," she utters, not as venomous as she could be but she looks tired. She brushes past him, going towards her old chambers and he makes up his mind. If she does not want to travel with him then so be it but he is still going. If he leaves now he will have a few hours head start and if he is not able to get near the Cup than maybe she will succeed where he fails.

"This is a terrible idea," he mutters as he grabs a torch and with a glance it catches fire. He passes a small serving girl of about eleven who stares at him open mouthed for a moment before her eyes shine gold in the shadows of the hallway. She giggles and runs away before he can ask who she is.

Merlin, his heart pounding and his head whirling with the possible dangers ahead walks towards the stables with feather light steps and a smile on his face.

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_So road trip adventures ahead._


	18. Chapter 18

Morgana slides another pin into her hair, with another clutched between her teeth, and fists the messy bun for security. She had left Camelot early in the morning but she had felt a strange mix of reluctance and a need to leave. Waking she had experienced the most intense disorientation, half expecting Gwen to come in with a cup of tea but then the past had rushed up in all it's dark order.

Her room is as she left it, her clothes still wrapped in paper, smelling of lavender. The fine silks and laces, with their painstakingly sewn in pearls and precious gems seem like they belonged to another person. Once the possessions of such things delighted her but now it just seems a waste. Her life is too nomadic for them now. The room, that life has no space for her in it, it's too fine and bright, too young. The guards sneer at her and the servants shiver like mice when they see her. Sliding the last pin into place she lowers her arms and sighs, looking up at the dappled light cast through the trees.

Merlin had left before dawn. He had taken her wish not to travel together seriously but his presence is around her like fog, in the small smoking camp sites, the horse hooves pressed into mud. He could hide his trail but he seems to want her to know where he is going. How helpful of him. Well if he reaches the Perilous Lands before her he can uncover the traps he saw fit to set and save her the trouble.

She tries to push him from her thoughts but it has been impossible. Her anger and betrayal still lingers, a burning stone that sits in her chest and sometimes chokes her with its smoking wrath. A cold hard judgement she would welcome, at least she could move passed it, but it's the bleeding ache in her heart that makes it unbearable. She had trusted him with more than friendship and he has stuck a blade into it. No man has made her feel so naked.

She will follow in his footsteps because she must but if he so much as whispers her name he will regret it.

* * *

As the shadow of the Darkling Woods falls behind her she stops her horse and peers down at the valley below. Trees crowd the cleft until they reach the jagged peaks of a mountain to the north. Druids once lived in the thick maze of trees but now that camp lies still and voiceless. She knows that they will be safer in the city but sometimes it wakes her at night knowing that if the city was breached the entire population of druids would effectively come to an end in one night.

_They're not as defenceless as they seem_, Morgana chides and looks away from the forest. Her thoughts turn to Mordred, who she had hugged goodbye that morning, before leaving him with a parting gift...

"A scabbard?" he takes the sheath from her and her heart felt lighter already.

"Not just any scabbard. I have worked day and night, weaving magic into every thread of it. When you wear it you will suffer no mortal injury."

Mordred's blue eyes narrow and his smile fades a little. "I'm not sure I'm worthy of such a gift…"

"Don't be so self-effacing. It's a gift, so please take it, wear it," she doesn't want her voice to sound so pleading but she cannot help it. She has dreamed of him dying in her arms one time too many. He will be kept safe, he must be.

"Then I accept. Thank you Morgana," he unbuckles his current scabbard and places his sword into the new one. A few knights pass them, looking wary.

"How are they treating you?" she asks once they're alone. Mordred shrugs, straightening.

"As any initiate but I can take it…I don't think I'll mention the scabbard to them, they might take it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well they may see it as unfair. All of them bleed when wounded, why should I be the exception?"

"Because you are different from them Mordred, you are worth twenty of them."

"I'm really not...but I'm honoured, it's a gift worthy of a king."

"Arthur has his own magician but judging from the number of times he's been injured I guess Merlin never had the foresight to help his king," she sneers and Mordred pretends not to notice. She bids him and Kara farewell, who is staying in Camelot to assist Gwen. The young novice does so with quiet disapproval but does so anyway. She is to take care of Aithusa while Morgana is away, though she's not sure who can stop the dragon from following if she gets it into her head. She just wants the young dragon to be safe. This trip may prove dangerous.

Searching the empty sky behind her Morgana ushers her horse along the grass, towards Mercia.

* * *

As the sun begins to set she reaches the outskirts of a strange village. She has not seen it before and surmises it must be newly settled. Maybe people from Essetir. The harvest is a few days away but she can see a few reapers in a barely field, their scythes gleaming orange in the sunlight. As she watches she sees a woman racing toward them, her skirts held over her knees. When she reaches them the men drop the scythes and follow the woman as she runs back the way she came. Morgana frowns, looking at the path that edges the village. She has no business with these people, no matter what's got them panicked. She urges her horse forward and as she comes to a crossroads she sees a one eyed horse tethered to a signpost.

Merlin's.

"Of course this is down to you," she mutters and grips the reins in her hands. She should just ride ahead but she needs Merlin's trail to follow. She has no idea what castle the cup is in and in that place a castle may just be a pile of stones. She could be searching for years and never find it. Cursing she urges her horse towards the village but it stalls, hoofing the ground and whining. Frowning she dismounts, soothing the stallion as best she can and after tethering it next to Merlin's brown gelding, she walks towards the village.

She smells if before she sees it. On the outskirts of the field a huge barn is on fire. The flames lick the purple sky, the fire fed by high winds. If they are unlucky it could set the field ablaze. Around the barn people rush back and forth in lines, shouting as they pass buckets of water from a well. A man is yelling, tearing at his hair at the flames while a woman clutches at his legs, weeping.

"What happened?" she asks a woman standing by the well, her cheeks streaked with soot.

"We don't rightly know miss. Some reckon what with the hot weather and no rain something sparked and set the whole thing up," she looks wild eyed and tired at once. Morgana nods but does not feel convinced. It smacks of sabotage. She passes straining men and women, their faces covered with cloths and Morgana coughs as the smoke blows their way. The barn makes odd groaning and snapping noises as wooden planks buckle in the heat. A constant roaring fills the air and as she gets closer, she is buffeted back by the heat. But through the flames she sees a shape and her heart stops. _Merlin is in the barn._

"MERLIN!" the scream rips from her throat involuntarily, a half angry, half-fearful noise. She wavers forward, the front of her dress singeing and watches with watering eyes as Merlin bursts out of the barn with something in his arms. Men and women catch him, throwing wet coats over his head and she pushes her way to him, her heart racing.

Soot streaks his hair and face, his clothes are smouldering but he smiles broadly, panting for breath as he offers the thing in his arms to the hair ripping farmer. A tiny child, so young that she cannot discern age, blinks at all the commotion before giving a shuddering wail. With a heart rending yell the man and woman take the child from Merlin, sobbing and incomprehensible with relief. Those gathered pull Merlin to his feet and then he's inches from her, his face fading from joy to surprise.

"Morgana?"

"You…you stupid," she struggles to form words because she knows, _she knows_, he went in there and didn't voice one word of magic to actually put the flames out. She grabs his sooty shirt and pulls him around to face the barn. "Put it out!"

She sees his eyes flick to those around them and then inhales, nodding. "Help me."

"The first and last time," she barks and lifts her hands and after a pause he follows. Magic bubbles up from her core, a sweet, yearning feeling and she holds onto that when the inevitable taint bubbles up through the middle. She plants her feet in the ground and together they chant the same spell.

Above their heads clouds gather, darkening the dusk sky until they all stand in an artificial night, the flames before them casting flickering shadows. Rain falls sudden and heard, a torrential downpour that those living far to the east would call a monsoon. The farmers and villagers stager back, their mouths falling open as the fire dims, at the two figures, two _magicians_, direct the water at the hottest part of the fire until smoke billows from the blackened beams.

Morgana pants, her arms aching and shaking with the effort. The longer she holds onto magic the more sick she feels, even with the healing bracelet. Merlin eyes her and pours more strength into his spell, taking the pressure off her. It should fill her with gratitude but she just feels a spike of reproach and forces herself to keep going. It takes longer than she imagined to finally put out the fire and by the time they both lower their arms they are soaking wet and shivering.

She turns to him, looking at his pale skin now clean by the rain and wants to crumple to the ground she's so spent. She hates this feeling, hates having to depend on him for anything but as he smiles a beam of dusk light breaks through a cloud, his face turning up to bask, and she smothers an odd pang and looks at the villagers behind them. Some look overjoyed, other relieved, all tired. They turn their attention from the smouldering barn and look at the dripping wet people before them in complete silence until after an agonising stretch of time someone begins to clap and then another joins in until the air vibrates with applause.

As they are hugged, clasped on the shoulder and generally applauded Morgana turns to Merlin in unconcealed wonder.

"I never expected this response from them. I thought they'd throw us in the barn and set it back on fire," she wants to laugh and he does so for her.

"That's because they're not from Camelot or even Albion," he whispers into her ear, making her skin tingle. "They're Saxons."

* * *

Saxons, according to the Olga who has offered her and Merlin a bed for the night, are experts at agriculture. Their old land tended to flood and so they had to find ways to grow crops. She hadn't had to worry about her crops burning from the heat, she laughs. They are hospitable and quick to laugh, especially after their crops have been saved. They lavish drinks on Morgana and Merlin, who feel grateful but also on alert. This is not what either expected.

"We had no idea who had settled here."

Olga nods. "Only a few of us. The king gave us permission," she adds, as if they doubted her. They thank their guests and once they have been steered enthusiastically to an attic they stare at each other in silence until Merlin speaks.

"Arthur never mentioned giving land to Saxons."

"Maybe she means another king…" Morgana looks out of the window and peers at the smoke still floating over the field. As Merlin moves closer to her she muses that she would rather sleep amongst the soot and puddles then share a room with him. Again.

"They seem nice, accepting. I guess they must view magic in a more positive light where they come from. I had heard the opposite…They've promised to give us food when we leave in the morning," his voice fades away, unsure of itself until he sighs her name. "We should talk."

"No. The only thing I'm going to do now is sleep." She brushes past him, taking the one tiny bed in the room and leaves him to find the softest bit of floorboard he can. As the night deepens and the villagers go to their homes, his voice drifts up from below.

"I saw something wonderful before I left," he says softly and she tries to block his voice. "A little girl in the castle saw me lighting a torch with magic. She didn't run away screaming or anything, as I thought she would. Her eyes lit up in the dark, glowing with magic."

"…a servant?" she asks, curious despite herself.

"I think so. She laughed and ran away…I never thought that there would be others like me right under my nose. I love it," he sighs happily and Morgana can't help but smile.

"It's that generation and younger who will live in a better world. They're be able to use magic in any way imaginable, from cleaning plates to healing the sick."

"Common place. I hope that's true."

"It will be. Once they see _now_ that it's normal and not something to fear, they'll see that _they_ are not something to be frightened of. I envy them that…lightness of spirit," she falls silent, wondering why she is talking so amiably. She had imagined stony silence or the worse curses shooting at him, not this.

"We can make that happen," he says after hesitating and something tight and hot fists her insides. She glares into the dark.

"I'm only going to say this once so listen. We're not friends, we're not partners, we're nothing to each other now and I don't want to change that. If you have some notion in your head that this will bring us closer together you're wrong. You deserve nothing from me, not even my presence…but I can't get to the cup alone. If we have to work together it's only as a convenience. When we part ways you'll go back to being nothing. Do you understand?"

"…I understand," he whispers and sounds hollow, like she just carved out his heart.

Morgana closes her eyes, blinking away hot tears and sinks into a hard sleep…

_Dark tendrils of hair flick through the air as she spins, her arms outreached as petals fall from the sky. She is dressed for a wedding, her usually unruly hair pined and curled into shiny waves. Her blue dress, to match her eyes, is already grass stained._

_"Why are there eggs in your pocket?"_

_"No there isn't!"_

_"Then what just rolled onto the grass at your feet?"_

_The girl gasps and scrabbles for an egg. It is blue and speckled with gold. A blackbird's. She cradles it, looking up guiltily._

_"You know stealing eggs is not permitted. Think of the poor robins and wrens."_

_"I'm sorry! I just love them," she strokes the egg against her cheek. "It is a gift. I wanted to give it to uncle."_

_"He'll probably fry it," says a deep voice and the girl spins around, almost dropping the egg. _

_"Daddy!"_

_The girl is picked up and thrown into the air and then caught in sure, strong hands. Her giggles fill the air as they step on petals below, a spattering of bright yellows, oranges, pinks and reds..._

Morgana blinks awake, smile curling her mouth and stretches like a cat. Contentment sits like a warm sun in her chest, the sunny dream still surrounding her like a blanket.

_That was no dream_, a voice whispers and Morgana stills, the heat in her stomach writhing as Merlin pops his head through the door.

"Come on, before I eat all your breakfast." He disappears with a grin and Morgana exhales a shaky breath. The little robin egg-stealing child has his smile.

_Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream…_

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_So the next few chapters will be from Morgana's POV..._


	19. Chapter 19

Late morning they leave the Saxons and their hospitality, packs full of fresh provisions. As the sun climbs high in the sky they come across a small wooden bridge arcing over a stream.

"Last time I was here a man guarded the bridge," Merlin adjusts the strap on his pack. They had left the horses at the village. The Perilous Lands is no place for them, with dangerous swamps and deadly beasts.

Morgana nods and walks on ahead, avoiding eye contact. Since waking that morning she has felt insecure and angry for it. If Merlin finds her avoidance odd he does not say but she feels if she stares at him too long he will read the question on her face.

_Who is the girl?_

She had tried to force the vision from her mind – for a vision it was, she can't deny it any longer – but all she can think about is the child. Will she be a mother in the future? If she will be why is she only seeing this future now? She looks over her shoulder as she gets to the end of the bridge, takes in Merlin's unfocused expression and looks away.

Blue eyes, unruly dark hair…for all she knows the child may have nothing to do with her, she may be someone else's but this reasonable idea is weak. She had felt love, a latent golden cord running through her heart. Whether she is this girl's mother or not she will love her as if she is.

"Careful!" Merlin warns, grabbing her arm and Morgana jerks to a stop. So focused inwards that she has not taken notice of her surroundings. A cliff edge stands inches from her feet and beyond that is a vast and desolate wasteland. Once this was the thriving and beautiful kingdom of Elmet, which once boasted many fine towns and villages, with a just king residing in splendour. It was said the Fisher King had suffered a grave wound by a cursed blade and his lands had withered away as he ailed. The people he once united parted ways. He had been the last High King of Albion. Now it lies twisted and eerily still, a moribund land under a red sky.

"You said the Fisher King died?" she asks, pulling away from his touch. He had told her about his journey here before, how he went to save Arthur. _No thanks to you_ was the unuttered addition but she knew.

"I thought so but maybe not. He transported himself away…the land doesn't look changed, not worse or any better. I thought it would improve…"

"Sometimes if rot sets in too deep it can be impossible to cure…"

"I don't know, I think it can be saved. It just needs a little attention…" he answers brightly before stopping with a frown. Before them is a crossroads. Between the forking paths a large rocks sits with an arrow carved onto it. It points left. Merlin scratches his forehead.

"What is it?"

"I'm sure I carved it pointing right…" he lowers his scratching hand, eyes narrowing. "I think it's been moved."

"By who?" she looks around them. But for a few flies and distant eerie cries they are alone. Her mother used to tell her that trolls used to love this land but they soon grew bored. From her experience they much preferred courtly life. Remembering Uther's past nuptials with amusement she sighs as Merlin closes his eyes and waves his hand at her to be silent. Battling a need to curse him she waits until he looks up and points left.

"That way."

"I hope you're right Merlin. If you get us lost I will push you into the nearest swamp," she begins walking down the path, leaving him to smile thinly behind her. He overtakes her and she follows behind, her gaze fixed on his back. In the past she has had many opportunities to kill Merlin but never succeeded. Was that because of his hidden magic or something else? Did some part of her hold back?

Maybe the better question is if he had the element of surprise why hadn't he stopped her in the past? How powerful is he? He had fought her as an old man once and she had barely got away. As they pass through dry grass and twisted, leafless trees, she speaks up.

"Are you trained?"

Merlin stalls before turning to her. "What?"

"You kept your magic secret, but you have some knowledge. I assume you're trained."

"…I had some guidance, from Gaius and others. It's an ongoing process, there's always more to learn. I have books, ones that I hide under some floorboards…I suppose I won't have to do that anymore," he shakes his head with a smile. "That library back in the city is amazing, I can't wait to get back there."

A petty part of her never wants him to step foot back there but the city is not hers. She has no say about who enters or not. Her thoughts turn to the Isle of the Blessed, which is in early restoration. It will be years before it is truly habitable. Again that tingling feeling of excitement shoots through her and she speaks her thoughts aloud.

"Before the purge women were sent to the isle, the druids could move from place to place, giving their services to those in need. Budding magicians who showed promise were apprenticed to great mages and each court had a magician."

"Sounds like a dream."

"A previous reality, one that can happen again. People have to see that magic is a normal part of their lives, not something to fear."

"And who will protect them from those with magic who don't see it that way?" They have stopped now, standing above a dry riverbed. He stares at her unflinchingly and her gaze never wavers.

"Because of the purge those who were sworn to police magic users were almost wiped out and so those who were left were lawless and ungoverned. The Catha and the Blood Guard, all those sects exist and they will stop magic being used for ill again."

"Well it would have saved us a lot of trouble if they had been on our side…" Merlin says and then looks like he wished he hadn't. Morgana gazes at him through hooded eyes and then smiles thinly.

"You would have been sharing a cell with me." She expects him to deny it, to get angry but he just becomes still and hard, like a statue. He turns away, looking at the dry cracked earth below them that once would have housed a rushing river.

"I think it's a good idea," he says, looking up, his face again animated. As if she had never spoken. "About the Catha. Once the king is well again I think he'll agree with the need to form some kind of governance over magic users _by_ magic users…"

"Well he won't wake up if we get lost in this place. Which way now?" she asks as they struggle up a swampy hill. He pulls her up by his side and she inhales at his touch.

"There's an old ruin up ahead, we can stay there for the night…it'll be safer together," he adds.

She wants to tell him to go look for his own ruin but holds her tongue. The markers that Merlin has put down seem to have moved and the land around them has an artificial silence, like someone holding their breath. The land is not dead, it's merely slumbering and who knows what will come out in the cover of night.

She nods, pulling her boot out of the mud she has been slowly sinking into and follows Merlin.

* * *

The ruin turns out to be a dilapidated tower on a hill, a watchtower. The roof is gone but as a light, fine rain falls they remain dry. Merlin lowers his hand as the spell he uttered hovers over them, acting as an umbrella.

She sits with her back to the wall, knees to her chest. She feels claustrophobic and short of breath since sitting but does not want Merlin to see. Once she craved small spaces, now she suffocates in them. She pokes at the fire, watches the way the light splashes against the walls and misses Aithusa painfully.

Merlin sits across from her, the fire between them. She fights a strange desire to stare at him until he squirms and to pretend he's not there. Finally, he looks down, uncomfortable and stares at the coin the seers gave him. He runs his thumb around the small square hole in the middle, his expression increasingly troubled. It looks heavy to her but it's clearly something made to wear around your neck. He puts it back in his pocket and gazes at her.

"When this is over, when Arthur is better, I'm going to create the beacons around the island."

"Taking their warning to heart?"

"Something like that…do you think the druids would go with me?"

"Possibly but maybe this is something you have to do yourself," she rolls out her blanket as he shakes his head.

"They said we have to work together."

"Do I have to repeat what I said before? There is no we."

"I understand that. We're not friends or anything else but even people who hate each other can work towards a common goal."

She smirks at him. "That usually ends up going badly. Do you hate me now Merlin?" she asks, mock upset and he sighs.

"You know what I mean. People who aren't on the best of terms."

"How tactful," she lies down, staring up at the jagged hole above. It is too familiar and so turns to stare at the fire. Merlin lies on his side and their eyes meet.

"When you dream of the future do you feel ill?" he asks suddenly and she blinks. She had not thought of it but her ability has not been affected by her illness.

"…No, it's the same. Only when I use the crystals."

"Hmm it's untouched. Interesting," he looks up, face inquisitive and remains silent. Talking of the future makes Morgana think of the little girl and that makes her heart squeeze. Insides boiling oddly she narrows her eyes at him.

"That story about the feathers in your pocket, about almost flying. Was that lies?"

He looks at her, eyes wide. "No. I really did stuff my pockets with feathers and jump out of a tree…but I did hover before hitting the ground. That's when I knew there was something different about me. My mother knew, I think she was waiting for something to happen…" his smile is faint, thoughts cast back years. He turns to her with that soft expression. "What about you? Did anything like that happen to you when you were small?"

"…I dreamt of my father dying," she replies in a faint whisper. "I thought it was a nightmare at first but every night it would be the same thing. No one would listen to me…" she stares without seeing, remembering the sharp pain she had felt, the helplessness of it all and then the numb acceptance. At the news of his death she had not been surprised.

"I'm sorry…for all our power some things are out of our hands," he says sadly and his pain is raw, personal. Morgana closes her eyes, sees Mordred dying in her arms, and forces them open again.

"That's why it's important that magic is accepted again. They don't know how much better off they'll be, how much safer. A united land, a united people…Albion will be the most powerful country on earth," she shudders, eyes alight and she does not see the unease on his face. He smiles.

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"Two years down the bottom of a hole gives you ample thinking time," she utters darkly and his smile fades. He gazes into her eyes tenderly.

"Your cell, I was the one that destroyed it," he utters hesitantly.

Something inside her lurches but she clamps down on it. "…Mordred hinted as much. Are you expecting thanks?"

"No, I just wanted you to know," he looks away and Morgana wants to know how he did it. Again and again it surprises her that for as long as she had known him he has had magic. How did he survive in the castle with such a big secret, such a big gift? It pains her to admit it but he intrigues her almost as much as he enrages her.

"You must love Camelot if you're willing to live so…restrained. You never wanted to leave, to find a place where you would be more accepted?" she thinks of the little boy so consumed with the possibility of flying that he risks death to a man willingly chaining himself to the ground because he can fly.

Merlin shrugs. "I come from a small village; coming to Camelot was like stepping into another world, a much bigger world. I could hide but before I stuck out like a sore thumb. They didn't know I had magic but they knew I was…different."

Morgana nods, thinking of her own childhood, filled with loss but some bright sparks ignite. Wild animals licking her hand, the sea washing up odd shells at her feet and no one could beat her at hide and seek because she knew exactly where they would be. Small things, not the terrifying explosion that happened when her magic fully manifested that night in Camelot. When it did all she wanted was to run away.

"You never wanted to leave?"

"…Not really," he says but his voice hitches and she frowns at him. He had once shown her the way to the druids, while he stayed in Camelot. Why had he not wanted to go with her? He says that he has been in love with her, or whatever he thinks that is, but he still said nothing. Lying and subterfuge is as normal to him as breathing. A hot, twisting hurt stings and a swell of indignation rises.

"Everything that comes out of your mouth I have to second guess now. You say you want change and that you're going to set up the beacons but you value Camelot, _Arthur_, more than magic, more than I think your own life. That's why we can never work together, even as enemies. You may just decide to let everything we _could_ build fall for the sake of Arthur. You'd fly back to that comfortable cage if he whistled."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? Have you ever tried to leave? To truly be yourself?"

"Yes! All right? Yes I considered it but it's none of your business," he barks angrily. They're both sitting up now, glaring at each other across the dying fire. That burning rage, that bleeding pain roars. She had thought it was dead, the oubliette had smothered it but it was only sleeping, like this twisted land.

"But you never did! You had the chance but you didn't take it! _Coward_!"

Merlin yells, screaming at her to shut up and slams his fist. The fire between them roars up and up and the searing heat off it makes her eyes water. She gasps, flattening against the wall before she shrieks her own cry of rage and the shield protecting them from the rain collapses and water plummets down. With a hiss the fire goes out, their makeshift camp now slick with water.

"Her name was Freya," he pants repeatedly, water dripping from his hair. Morgana, like the fire, feels her anger hissing out until she's left with a hollow, sodden feeling. "She's gone…she's dead." Merlin stares miserably at her and she has no idea if the water rolling down his face are tears or not.

Morgana, knowing there is nothing she can say to remove that hollow look in his eyes, just nods and with a flutter of her hand the stones and their beds are dry. Tired, drained and feeling queasy she lies down, her back to him and tries to ignore the hurt and guilt throbbing in the empty pit of her stomach as she falls asleep...

Waves crash against the rocks below and seagulls smoothly ride currents of air. The sea is a clear blue, the sand white and Morgana recognises her childhood home but as she looks around she sees the girl and all thoughts of Trevena flee. She balances on top of a wall, her arms outstretched as her hair flies around her head wildly. There is nothing between her and the sea but air.

_Be careful! _She wants to yell but her faint words are swallowed by the sound of the sea. She can't even move. _This is a dream_; she whispers but knows it's not true. She's not really here, she's just a visitor but this may as well be a dream for all her influence. She is an observer.

"Caw! Caw!" the girl cries, copying the circling gulls. She turns on her bare feet, looks right past Morgana and then places her hands on her hips and lifts her chin.

A harried, plump woman sees the girl on the wall and looks like she's going to have a heart attack. "MISS! GET DOWN FROM THERE!"

"I shan't. Daddy said that I can be on lookout. It's allowed."

"Well your father isn't here right now. Get down before you break your neck! Good gracious, the fright you gave me…" as she rubs her chest and reaches for the girl she seems to take some pity on the maid and smiles at her sweetly.

"It's all right, I won't fall into the sea, I promise. Watch," she says and with another smile she spreads her arms and falls backwards off the wall.

"NO!" Morgana and the maid scream, before the woman rushes forward but she never makes it to the wall. With a rushing noise a massive force pushes her over as a colossal wave rushes up over the balcony. Only it's not a wave, it's not even water.

_It's a dragon_. Scales gleaming like mother of pearl, her snout long and straight and wings as large as ship sails the gawky, malformed white dragon is gone.

"Aithusa…" Morgana utters in awe as the fully-grown dragon shoots up into the air, the child clinging to the purpose built saddle on her back, giggling madly. "You're so beautiful! _So beautiful_…"

Morgana blinks awake, uttering the last word and gasps when Merlin jerks back. He had been leaning over her, hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry, it looked like you were having a nightmare. You screamed."

Morgana sits up, unable to keep the grin off her face "I saw Aithusa! She was at Tintagel! She was large enough to ride. She was stunning!" so excited at the vision she almost tells him about who was riding the dragon but bites her tongue so hard she tastes blood.

"A vision? That's wonderful!" he says, smiling proudly, and he means it.

Smiling through the bitter taste she packs, her spirits as high as they have been in weeks. When Merlin offers her a slice of hard bread she thanks him, thinking of the outburst the night before. The truth of the matter is she doesn't know who Merlin is and what he has been through. She only has impressions, preconceived notions and judgements. He is a mystery but is it one she wants to solve? Her thoughts turn to the child clinging to Aithusa. Her daughter…Their daughter?

"…Do you plan on having children?" she asks suddenly as they trudge through a deserted village. The houses are husks, weeds and high grass hiding what is left of them.

Merlin laughs at her odd question and turns to her. "Does looking after Arthur count?"

"The man can't dress himself, that's a fact, but no he doesn't count," she smiles slyly and he chuckles, looking up at the cloudy sky and shrugs.

"I never really thought of it. Why?" he looks at her sharply and she tries not to laugh at the suspicion on his suddenly pale face.

"Don't worry Merlin; I don't have a little baby hidden away under here," _Not yet anyway_… she shoos the thought away and watches him with amusement at the way his shoulders relax.

"I did wonder, you know, that night under the tree…"

"I suppose you're not as…_potent_ as some," she replies and he smirks at her for a moment with a hot, challenging look from under his brows that does something odd to her stomach. She passes him with an arched eyebrow and exhales once out of his sight.

_You're not going soft for him again. Not again, not ever._

Chiding herself she drinks from her canister, which is growing lighter and then freezes when a shrill cry rents the air. She and Merlin stare at each other before they crouch amongst the grass. Morgana looks up, trying to see what made the noise. Nothing human, that's for sure.

_\- Maybe a griffin? -_

Morgana almost chokes on the water as Merlin's voice speaks up clearly in her mind. Like Mordred he is telepathic. She, however, is not.

Frowning she points at her temple, at him and then makes an angry swiping motion. Merlin looks shocked but nods. Looking up he moves hastily towards her until he's by her side.

"Sorry, I thought you could do it."

"I can only hear and I don't want your voice in my head," she hisses and he winches.

"Fine, fine. Can you see it?"

"No but I think something's coming," she whispers as the grass starts to rasp together in the distance and soon loud thudding footfalls are coming closer. Merlin and Morgana look up, both seconds away from unleashing a torrent of magic when they are almost bowled over but not by a griffin or even a cow.

_Monks_.

"So sorry," one pants as he rushes away, his white smock grass stained.

"You had better run" another says helpfully as more men in white pass them but don't stop. Something in Morgana stirs, like something from a dream but she forgets it when Merlin rudely grabs her shoulder and pushes her after the monks in white. She's about to argue when the oddest creature that Morgana has ever seen crests the hill. It must be fifty foot long, a snake like body but with tiny, useless wings and short arms and legs. It's like someone tried to make a dragon after only hearing what they might look like and failed spectacularly.

"What the hell is that?!"

"Do you want to wait and ask? RUN!"

Not arguing she follows the retreating monks. For men, she assumes, who spend their days in benediction they are very spry. As they head into a thicket of leafless wood she hears another piercing cry that almost stuns her but Merlin grabs her hand and pulls her onwards. The ground under them is springy with old leaves but soon that clears away to reveal grass. She's so concerned with the beast chasing them that she does not notice the change in the grass below her feet until they all burst out of the woods and come upon a castle.

The castle stands in the middle of a green moat, the drawbridge down, and as they run it thunders with a hollow sound. Once they're all through the monks strain to lift the bridge, sweat trickling like oil over their faces. Merlin steps forward and with a flick of his fingers the bridge slams up and the portcullis bangs down. The monks gasp, looking relieved but shocked. In the distance the creature gives another angry cry, as if it will not come any closer. Or can't.

Panting in the middle of a small courtyard Morgana looks up at the ivy growing lushly over the walls, at the flowers gathered at the base of a tree and at a fountain flowing gently and wonders of she has been knocked out and is dreaming.

"Do you see the fish in that fountain?" Merlin asks her and she nods.

"The curse does not touch this castle," an old voice says and the monk who told them to run smiles.

"Is it magic?"

"It's…a miracle," another answers carefully and Morgana looks at Merlin before another monk comes forward and lowers his hood. Morgana tries not to gawk. Thick wavy hair shines like burnished gold in the sun, falling into serene green eyes that he flicks away with a boyish smile. The monk, roughly the same age as Mordred, is the most beautiful person she has ever seen and judging by Merlin's wide-eyed look he's thinking much the same.

"Welcome to my home. My name is Galahad."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_I'm back! Sorry for the wait, I've been busy. Hope this chapter made up for it though. I've always wished they would introduce this knight on the show but nope. _


	20. Chapter 20

Galahad leads them through the small castle, talking animatedly as he goes. Morgana has the impression he does not receive many visitors.

"The beast appeared some time ago, coming from the north. The brothers sometimes venture out, on pilgrimages, and one day they stopped at a castle not far from here to rest. The beast attacked them."

Morgana nods, her attention half on the boy and the other on the shifting white figures below in the courtyard. They make her feel uncomfortable, their seeming benevolence and calm reminding her of Sister Birgit. They are all followers of the new religion, though she understands there are different sects. Still she keeps an eye on them as Merlin speaks.

"The castle wasn't Corbenic was it?" Merlin asks, already wincing. Morgana narrows her eyes at him as Galahad stops.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Ah, right…well..." Merlin pulls a face, looking flustered. "That beast might be my fault."

Morgana smirks. "Let me guess: one of your traps?"

"I didn't know how big it would get! It was only meant to roam around the castle," he looks at Galahad, who has been standing in patient silence and frowns. "Unless you provoked it?"

"About a month ago Brother Hubert managed to enter the castle. He has more curiosity than sense," he says fondly as he shows them into a large room. "But he found something wondrous, something that glowed, leading him to it's resting place."

"What?" Morgana asks, already knowing the answer.

"The Grail."

"The what?" Merlin and Morgana stares at the young man, who smiles in excitement. The effect it has on his face is beautifying. Morgana imagines how her heart would gallop if she was ten years younger. He is far too pretty.

"The Grail. My mother would tell me stories as a boy of a special cup that could cure any disease and spare those from imminent death. The brothers have heard of it's power and seek to protect it, to use it for good."

"It doesn't belong to them," Morgana spits out before she can stop herself. Galahad blinks and then smiles apologetically.

"I don't think it belongs to anyone my lady."

"It's an object of magic, one that, until recently, was guarded by the druids," she casts a withering look at Merlin who chooses to ignore it. Instead he looks at the room. It's lavish and judging by the trinkets sitting before a mirror it once belonged to a woman.

"I know the history of the cup, my mother told me everything she knew," he smiles again, not the least bit offended at her challenging tone. Merlin tilts his head.

"It doesn't bother you that it's an object of magic?"

"Why would it?"

"Because you're surrounded by those who see magic as evil or something to be cleansed," Morgana tries to keep her voice level but it shakes. The open look on Galahad's face becomes sharper, more serious as he steps closer to her. He speaks in a hush.

"I know some of those views, some brothers hold it but I do not. My mother had magic, I've grown up around it and to me there is no difference in the faith I hold and the wonder that men and woman can do. They are sprung from the same well."

Morgana stares into his wide eyes, looking for deception but she finds none. She inclines her head. "You are one of a few to hold such an opinion."

Galahad beams before he shrugs. "I wouldn't know. Tell me, where have you come from?" he looks between them eagerly.

"Camelot," Merlin answers and Galahad shakes his head.

"Never heard of it."

"You're joking? It's a great city to the south."

"I've never been further then the trees," Galahad points out of the window and Morgana sees how the lush green grass and leaves fades away into dry and dead twigs. Something in her shrivels up.

"You've never left this place?"

"Only a few paces. My mother fled years before, from the west and came back here. It's our ancestral home," he looks around the room sadly. "She said it was not safe for her or me outside, not with the war on."

"The purge?" Merlin asks and Galahad looks none the wiser. Morgana feels pity well up in her. The boy has no idea what has been happening around him. Why? She looks through the open door and sees a monk passing, head bent in thought. A flush of hate spreads through her.

"Are they keeping you prisoner?"

Galahad laughs. "What? No. They were my guests at first but soon I became one of them. After mother…left," he finishes haltingly and Merlin stares at him in concern. They share a look as the boy stares out of the window.

"Do you have magic?" Morgana asks gently and Galahad shakes his head.

"No. I'm just…blessed," he says with no boast. He motions to the climbing roses covering the wall of the garden. "It wasn't always like this, before it was just as dead as the land beyond but we worked hard to keep what we could alive, to feed ourselves. Then one day, about two years ago, I saw an old man in the woods. He was dying so I went to him. He told me that I was the last of his descendants and with his passing the land would thrive again….and it did."

"The Fisher King," Merlin says, nodding. "I met him before you did. No wonder he used the spell to transport away, he was going to you."

"I buried him under the trees and the next day everything was green. At first I thought it was him but soon everything I touched..." Galahad smiles, wagging his fingers, eyes bright with the memory. He turns to Morgana and she can understand why he thinks he is blessed. He is the strange product of fate.

"Why do you stay here?" she asks him gently and he takes some time to answer.

"Before my mother left she said that she would return. She was going on a quest, seeking the Grail. She said if she found it the land would be restored." Galahad looks down, half smiling. "But she has been gone for quite some time now…"

Feeling painfully sorry for the gentle and crushingly naive boy Morgana takes his hand, ignoring Merlin's lifted brow. "But you know where it is now and we will help you get to it."

Merlin nods. "I think that's why we're here. You're meant to help us." Merlin sits down on a chair by a table and Galahad and Morgana join him as he explains the plight of Arthur and the looming threat of the Saxons. Galahad listens seriously and after hours of talking and eating he leaves them as the sun sinks, begging time to consider. Morgana watches Merlin light the candles with a flare of his eyes as they are left alone. Galahad had just assumed that they would share a room. She should be used to it by now.

"I feel sorry for him…but also a little envious," Merlin says. "He's so sheltered but he's been spared the fear of magic. To him it's ordinary."

Morgana shakes her head. "No, everything to him is precious. He must come with us; he can't stay here with those dusty old men. They'll twist him," she swirls her fingers at her temple and Merlin shrugs as he sits across from her.

"They don't seem too bad."

"He's a king, not a monk, whether he realises that or not."

"Of the Perilous Lands?" he asks incredulously.

"When he leaves this castle. Those monks must know and yet they keep him here." Morgana taps her fingers against the table, thoughts whirling. "Think of the tactical advantage Arthur would have if he had this land under fealty. Elmet takes up most of the centre of Albion."

Merlin chuckles. "You've just meet him and you've already crowned him and now Arthur is his liege lord."

She cuts him a sharp look. "If you were any advisor you would have been thinking of this before me."

"Guess I'm not much of an advisor then," he flashes her a glib smile and rises, stretching his arms. "Take the bed, tomorrow will be a long day."

Morgana fingers the healing bracelet on her wrist and a flood of nervous excitement swells up inside. Tomorrow she will be cured and she will be able to use magic as freely as she once had. She approaches the bed, unlacing the threads keeping her bodice together before she catches herself. Merlin sits with his back to her, removing his boots. This feels normal but it shouldn't. She turns back to him, bodice half open but she doesn't care.

"You know there are plenty of other beds in this place."

Merlin stands, boots in his hands and blinks. "Right…you're right."

"Unless you're so desperate to sleep near me that you'll take a stone floor?" she smirks at him.

"Good night Morgana," he smiles thinly but his eyes glow in amusement and maybe some embarrassment before the door swings shut behind him. Morgana lets the smirk fall and exhales a breath. Whatever their relationship is it should not be comfortable but it is so easy to fall back into that old groove they made in Amata.

Too much has changed for that.

* * *

As the night deepens and only things that come out in darkness creep and slither from their bowers Morgana tosses in bed, her eyes flashing gold under her eyelids. Again she dreams of the girl, only this time as a baby. Small fists curl around the long tendrils of her hair and pull as she lowers her face to the soft top of her head and inhales. She smells of soap and the sea, of flowers and some indiscernible scent that is purely her. A man hums a tune behind them, a soft lullaby that manages to lull both of them to sleep…

Morgana wakes humming, the chamber still dark. She tightens her arms around empty air and feels a horrible loss. How can she miss someone who doesn't exist? How can she yearn for something that may not be? As she sits up the hunger to have that child in her arms increases, an inaccessible feeling that if she could step back from herself she would see how similar it was to the frenzied need to climb a throne. She would kill for that future.

"I don't even like children," she grumbles to herself as she swings her feet over the side of the bed and freezes. A noise she took for the push and pull of the sea is still beating in her ears.

_Wings._

Heart thumping she races to the window in time to see a dark shape fly overhead. She runs from the room, heading towards the battlements and almost pushes Merlin over the side.

"Aithusa!"

"It wasn't her." Merlin grabs hold of her and pulls himself up.

"I saw a dragon! I heard her!"

"It wasn't her…" he sighs weakly. She expects him to drop his arms but he doesn't. Instead a strange desperation comes into his eyes and his hands rub at her arms and then moves to cup her face. Morgana stops breathing.

"What are you doing?"

"…I just had to check," he says, not making any sense but the worry in his eyes is real. He brushes his fingers over her forehead, brushing her hair aside and the most intense hot shiver passes through her. He lowers his hands to her shoulders and he seems to be battling the need to pull her closer to him. Morgana moves back and his hands tighten for a moment as his eyes glow like gold coins in the dark.

"…What was that?" she asks, her mouth very dry.

"Not what: who," he answers and finally lowers his hands with a sigh. "It was Kilgharrah the Great Dragon. It seems when he's not hovering around Camelot this is where he likes to stay."

"What did he want?"

"To bring some good news, as always," the sarcasm drips from his words. Morgana frowns at him and Merlin shakes his head with smile. "Don't worry, the days of seeking his advice are long over," he says and means it. But as she moves back that look of worry passes over his face and he reaches a hand to her face again. Morgana leans back, avoiding his touch.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping his hand as she steps back towards her room. "Just – just be careful Morgana."

"Of what?"

But he doesn't answer and she does not want to press him to find out. Feeling too hot and flustered she escapes back into bed, her mind whirling with too many thoughts to sleep.

* * *

The monks graciously ask them to stay longer but Merlin wants to leave as soon as possible and Morgana does not argue. She can see that they have not mistreated the boy but sometimes kindness can be a cruelty. Sister Birgit treated her gentler than Sarrum but it is that small, wimple wearing woman who turns her stomach to liquid. They do not want Galahad to leave, to them he is something not quite human, something holy. She can understand how they would view him that way but she just wants to scream that he is a product of magic, however tenuous, but she holds her tongue. She may not agree with their beliefs but her shouting it down will do nothing but sow dissent.

They travel towards Corbenic as a light rain falls, rain that once had felt oddly gritty. Now it falls lightly against her hood, the smell earthy. Merlin occasionally turns to look at her, as if to assure himself that she is still there. The air between them is tense since the night before and she does not know what to make of it. Does he doubt her? Does he think she's going to take the cup? She had thought of it but only because a quiet doubt in _him_ makes her think so. What if he takes the cup to Arthur and leaves her in this weak state? It must give him some relief to know that if the time ever came she would be no match against him.

_Stop thinking like this, stop it…_Morgana forces these dark thoughts away but the unease will not leave her. Merlin does not seem distrustful, he seems on edge and nervous. What had the dragon told him? How often has Merlin been in talks with the dragon since Amata? Again her thoughts overshadow and she tries to think of something positive, of what lies ahead.

The Cup of Life.

She will take it back to the city, where it will be safe. If the Saxons ever got their hands on the chalice it will prove their doom…however, if she made Arthur's army shed a single drop of blood into the cup none would come to harm.

_Mordred…_

A fire ignites in her heart and head, a sense of purpose. She can protect him, she can protect everyone. Smiling she looks up as they reach the dry and cracked remains of a vast lake. Merlin looks at her as Galahad consults a map. His mouth falls open.

"What is it?" she asks as Merlin comes to her with a huge giddy smile on his face. He turns her around and she gasps. The land behind them was nothing but dead trees and parched earth. Now a narrow strip of green shows where they have made progress.

"Beautiful…" she breathes and Galahad joins them. He does no look as awed, she supposes he's used to it.

"Well I guess we won't get lost going back," he quips and looks at the dry lake bed with a frown. "I think we have to go this way."

Morgana follows, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight behind them. The Fisher King has had many, many descendants but it was only after his death his legacy could finally continue. The land is joined to his bloodline and Galahad is the last.

"Have you dreamed of the future lately?" Merlin asks beside her, startling her. She stares at him sharply. His words seem off handed but he looks apprehensive.

_Does he know about the girl? _

The thought it sudden and paranoid. Is that what the dragon told him? Is that why he seems so anxious? Morgana wants to laugh. Of course he would dread the possibility. He doesn't trust her enough to share his secret and begin a life that they could have had, he definitely wouldn't want something so committable.

_Don't get ahead of yourself_, a prim voice says, a voice that sounds like her sister. She swallows and straightens. These snide thoughts are pointless. Even if the child _is_ his Merlin has no part in her life. He's made sure of that.

"No, I haven't. Why?"

"Just wondering."

"Merlin if there's something worrying you just tell me."

He opens his mouth and then closes it. He might as well be trying to squeeze rocks for water for all the struggle on his face. Morgana sighs, tired of his indecisiveness, and tries to walk past him when he grabs her arm.

"Stay away from the shore during the winter," he blurts out and she lifts her brows.

"What shore?"

"Any shore."

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

"I don't take orders from you."

"I'm trying to help you," Merlin growls and Morgana laughs.

"You won't even tell me why! What winter? Do you have a date? Time? No? Thank you for your help Merlin, much appreciated," she sneers at him and he's about to shout something at her when Galahad clears his throat and points behind them.

"I think it would probably be a good idea if we run," he says politely and the arguing couple turn. The odd beast that Merlin created is gaining on them, it's small eyes glinting. It looks look a cat who has finally been gifted a few mice to play with after a dry spell.

"Run!" Morgana shouts but Merlin is slow to react.

"I can call it off!"

"You do that! Good luck!" she yells back, still running, unaware that a mad smile is spread over her face. If Merlin gets eaten by his own ridiculous creation she will laugh. She catches up to Galahad who turns when he sees that Merlin is not with them.

"He needs assistance!" To her utmost surprise, he pulls a sword from under his white cloak. Morgana begins to shake her head, telling him that Merlin can handle himself, and believing it too, but the young monk is already running towards Merlin and the approaching beast.

"Come back! Can you even use that thing?!"

Her question is answered when Galahad throws back his arm and with a yell he flings the sword and it strikes the beast square between the eyes. Morgana finds herself clapping and stops when the beast simply shakes its head, gaze now cross-eyed. Galahad and Merlin stare up at the creature before she hears Merlin sighing distinctly and with obvious regret.

"Fine." Merlin lifts his arm and then cuts it through the air sharply before snapping his hand into a fist. The creature stiffens and then explodes without a sound. White plaster floats in the air and Merlin bends down to scoop some up before coming back to her. He offers her a handful of clay.

"Can't kill it with weapons because it wasn't actually alive," he says, looking regretfully at the white stuff now in her hand. "Had to end the spell keeping it growing."

"You – you made that out of clay? But it was sentient."

"Sort of, yeah," he says and she tries to hide her awe. She knew then that whatever power he possess it is different from her own, at least he approaches it in a completely different way. He experiments, she follows instructions.

"What spell did you use?" she asks tentatively and Merlin gazes at her softly before answering her, or tries to. She squeezes the clay in her hands, absent mindedly forming it into shapes as they cross the dry lake bed and talk. She is so consumed in this sharing of knowledge that she does not realise they have reached Corbenic until she bumps into a boat tied to a low pier. Merlin and Galahad jump up and both offer her a hand up. On the rotten wooden planks, she looks up at the castle, one that is not much different from the one they have just left.

"Any more traps we should know about?" she asks and Merlin lifts a finger, pauses and then hurries on ahead, telling them to wait.

"You are a priestess?" Galahad asks her when they are alone. Morgana nods.

"You said your mother had magic. Did she study at the isle?"

"I don't know. She just told me she had to flee and in these lands no one would pursue her…but more than that," he adds. "I think she knew. She was a descended of King Pelles, she knew the land was hers by birth right. I'm only sorry she never got see it alive again," he says sadly, looking at the green cleft of the valley they have passed through.

"I'm sure she would be proud," she answers, thinking of Mordred. Both born of sorceress, both deserted. She narrows her eyes at him carefully, looking for any similarities but then tells herself to stop being foolish.

"Is Merlin the king's magician?" the monk asks innocently and she tries not to snort and fails.

"Not that the king has any idea. There's so much you don't know," she adds, serious. "Out there people view magic as something to be feared, as something that corrupts…but power is power, it's the fault of the person that wields it and the choices they make…" she trails off, losing focus until Merlin whistles. The way is clear.

"I see no difference in magic and the miracles that make the flowers grow."

"One you attest to your god, the followers of which shun and view us as barely human."

"Why?" he asks as they walk under a portcullis towards Merlin.

"Because that's the lies that have been poured into their ears."

"But to what purpose? I don't understand," he says and again she pities him because he truly doesn't understand, he has not lived it. Having overheard their conversation Merlin speaks.

"Fear. People fear what they don't understand."

"And can't control."

"So their fear is unwarranted?" they look up at the front of the castle, where a flight of steps leads the way to a broken pair of doors. Ivy and creepers grow everywhere.

"No," Morgana answers, beating Merlin to it. "Like I said power corrupts, no matter the type, but magic can be used to carry out and justify terrible deeds. If you have a village full of healers but one decides to slaughter with a single word it clearly invokes fear, even if the rest are innocent."

"Then magic should be in trustworthy hands. It's a gift and one that should be used to help," Galahad answers simply and Morgana looks at Merlin as they pass through shadowy, empty corridors.

"Someone said something similar to me once," she stares at Merlin who just gazes at her sadly before speaking.

"It's not that simple. If we decided who's trustworthy, who's right for magic then we'll be interfering in something that's beyond us."

Morgana nods. "Which is what is happening now. It started with Uther and I think it will continue with Sarrum if we don't stop him."

"We will," Merlin assures her with a cold look and she wonders suddenly how many lives he has took in his duty to Arthur. She wants to imagine a regrettable handful but she knows it's not right. He looks and acts soft but inside he is stone. They are the reverse of each other.

"The brothers said they saw it through here," Galahad whispers, breaking into their moment. Merlin nods and leads the way ahead.

Morgana expects to be lead to a great hall, something worthy of the cup but Merlin leads them downwards, into what would have been the servant's quarters. She smiles when he whispers a spell to open a simple wooden door, which leads to a room full of shelves. Each one houses cups and saucers of varying styles and sizes.

"Ingenious," Galahad says and she can't help nod as Merlin looks very pleased with himself.

"People usually miss what's right under their noses," he utters conversationally and Morgana's smile drops. Insolent farm boy. She watches as he searches the shelves, scratching his head and she does laugh then.

"Don't tell me you've lost it?"

"No! There's just a lot of gold cups here as well…" he purses his mouth, squinting and then shrugs. He lifts a hand and with a spell every single cup flies off the shelves, and either shatters to the floor or melts in golden and silver globules down the walls.

"How neat," she drawls as Galahad peers at the floor, toeing bits of broken porcelain and glass.

"Nothing can destroy it. Look for the untouched one," he instructs, joining Galahad to search the floor. Morgana clucks her tongue and waves her hands in a swirling motion. With a clatter all the shattered shards float into the air to form a spinning ball. She leaves it to drift in a corner, the use of magic only making her slightly light headed.

"There!" Merlin shouts and he and Morgana dart for the golden chalice lying under a shelf. Both hook their fingers around its golden edges but it may as well be welded to the floor.

"Let go!" she hisses and he grunts the same thing back at her. "You said you couldn't pick it up!"

"If I can't what makes you think you can?" he asks, straightening and she follows him up.

"It's your stupid fault for putting such a restricting spell on it."

"I was trying to keep it safe! In the wrong hands it can be absolutely deadly!"

"I remember!"

"It's a bit dusty but still drinkable," Galahad says, wiping the hem of his sleeve around the cup. Morgana and Merlin stare at him, lost for words until Merlin begins to grin.

"Of course you can pick it up, I knew you'd be able to!"

"What?" Galahad frowns, utterly unaware of what he has just accomplished. He even looks a bit disappointed. He was probably expecting angels to sing and the room to shake. Not a small, ordinary gold cup. "Shall we go? You'll want to return this to your king." He stores the cup in the inner pocket of his cloak for safekeeping and leaves the magical duo to stare after him in wonder.

* * *

As they reach the door out of the castle a beam of sunlight breaks through the red clouds, illuminating the grassy path ahead. Galahad stares at the ground, deep in thought and Merlin nudges him.

"What's wrong?"

"It'll take me years to bring the land back to life again."

"Maybe not," Morgana stares up as raindrops fall on their heads and then stares pointedly at Merlin.

"But there needs to be a balance, one life for another."

"It's land," she argues.

"Which can die or live. You have to trade one for the other."

"Arthur's dying but you seem assured the balance will not be upset."

"It's different. He's just one man, this place is full of variables. Some _almost_ dead, others just husks…"

Morgana nods, accepting it but then the answer comes to her like a sharp blade through her chest. _One land for another_…a terrible laugh wants to bubble out of her throat and it takes all of her strength to keep it contained. The thought is a prelude to madness. She turns away to look back at the castle to compose herself before looking at Galahad. He smiles.

"It's all right. If this is my duty then I will do it, even if it takes most of my life."

"It's a sacrifice."

"I've spent all my life under one roof. It's not sacrifice, it's living," he stares up at the sky, eyes closed and Morgana wishes she had possession of such simple peace.

"Well you're coming to Camelot before you start on your great quest. And you're the only person who can carry the cup, at least until I work out how to undo the spell over it," Merlin says, not looking very convinced.

They walk the length of the pier and Morgana peers over, eyes squinting. Light reflects off shallow puddles and she knows it has nothing to do with the light rain falling. The lake will likely be full of water by the end of the day. Lifting her skirts she sloshes through, Merlin talking excitedly to Galahad about where he comes from, about Camelot and the future they want to build. The monk listens with a childish wonder.

"I'm very much looking forward to seeing the citadel. It sounds like a story," he proclaims as they come closer to the monastery, passing through the trees. Morgana stops Galahad, hand on his arm.

"I want to drink from the cup. I'm not dying," she adds hastily as his face grows troubled. "But I am…sick."

She eyes Merlin, expecting him to challenge her but he remains silent, just watches her intently. Galahad looks between them before he nods. They move back towards the castle and enter the courtyard to cheers as Galahad lifts the cup for all the see.

"I hope this works," Merlin whispers but Morgana hardly hears him. She follows Galahad to a well and watches him position the cup as he pumps the lever. A gush of clear water fills the cup until it overflows and where it hits the ground flowers grows between cracks. He offers the cup to her and she places her hands over his. A glimpse of blue sky is visible in the water before he tips the cup to her lips and she drinks.

At once she feels purified, the water icy cold and clean. Shivering she smiles, moving back and with a steadying breath she lifts a hand and utters a spell to make the clouds disappear. Instantly beams of sunshine bathe them in warmth, and she has the impression of arcing blue skies before a great wave of sickness rolls through her head and she falls to her knees.

"Morgana!"

She stares at Merlin with wide, wounded eyes. "Nothing. Nothing has changed," she feels Merlin's hands around her shoulders and when he pushes her against his chest she does not fight. The monks give them space as she stares over his shoulder, staring at nothing but inside the truth reveals itself clearly, like someone pulling a sheet away. A truth that has always been there but she had not wished to look.

There is nothing wrong with her magic; this has all been in her head. A ragged laugh rips from her mouth.

"I thought I won, I thought I beat her but she won. I'm mad. She drove me mad," she laughs until she can't make another sound and her vision swims until everything fades into a blissful blank nothing.


	21. Chapter 21

Memories sometimes cross over her mind like shooting stars, a flash of painful recollection before fading. Other times it settles over her like an unexpected cloud with seemingly nothing triggering it. The memory would arrive and her body harbours the sensation of it. Pounding heart, skin prickling, and breath caught in the throat. Angrily she would push it away, tell herself to get a grip, that time is over but it's never over. She is haunted by the ghosts of her sufferings.

She sits with her fingers pressed to her temples, elbows resting on the table. Directly below is an untouched plate of food and water. Merlin had slipped it to her, whispering for her to eat but her mind is working tirelessly and she has no appetite. He sits at the end of the table, watching her silently. She stares at a sprig of rosemary on the plate until it blurs in her vision.

"I went to Amata because I dreamed he had a weapon that would prove deadly to those with magic. I dreamed of fields of dead leaves and druids choking on those leaves…I saw lights going out like stars," as she says this Merlin stirs.

"The map of lights. I never had the time to destroy it," he admits with disappointment.

"I suppose it makes no difference now," she sighs, looks up at him through her curtain of hair before staring at the plate again.

"I had not been with Aithusa for long, she was still small enough to carry," she smiles weakly at the memory of the dragon huddled on her lap. "I had failed to conquer Camelot and I was angry, so disappointed…but the dreams wouldn't stop and I went to the coast instead, to Amata. I planned to destroy whatever Sarrum was doing, kill him and take control of the port," she sits up, shaking her head with an odd smile. "After that was done I would have gone back to Ismere, where I stored a few artefacts. The place is said to house an object of great power and knowledge, but I never found anything…"

"What happened?"

"They knew I was coming. I still don't know how but they were expecting me. Aithusa was captured but I managed to flee. I thought they would sell her, one of the last dragons alive would fetch a king's ransom but they didn't. I didn't know what was happening and I should have left but I couldn't. She had saved my life, she had chosen me and I couldn't leave her," she pauses here, looking out of the window at the trees swaying beyond. Since retrieving the cup the land beyond has become lush and trilling with birdsong.

"They used her as bait," Merlin says and she nods, meeting his eyes.

"I was captured and I thought I would be executed but Sarrum offered me a deal instead. Have you noticed that he doesn't hate magic in the way that Uther did? He sees it as an illness, like a parasite that has made some innocent person it's host. He sees it that way because he had a son, his only heir and he had magic."

Merlin frowns, leaning forward. "I thought Sarrum was childless?"

"Many thought so and that's what he wanted people to believe. He kept the boy out of sight, the public being told that he had died as an infant. He was around seven when I met him and his magic was…" she shakes her head, breath blowing out of her mouth. "He had no control over his power, it would burst out of him when he got overly excited, angry or sad. He was a sweet boy but…he was more like a toddler, in his mind."

"So the boy was kept prisoner?"

"No, not really. He had his own little estate, with a nurse and his very own governess. I think you can guess who that was."

"The sister," Merlin replies bitterly.

"Sarrum didn't hate his son because he had magic, he felt pity. He saw something that forced his son into isolation, with no friends and no chance at a normal life. He should be king by rights when Sarrum died but it was impossible. The sister, who was originally a healer before she abandoned the goddess, said that she could help him. The boy was given the weed, a very low dose and gradually his magic was weakened…but then his health declined."

Morgana stops speaking, hesitating to voice her part in the sad tale. The boy was why she and Aithusa were forced into the oubliette, why Sarrum had taken a plant only cultivated for one lonely boy and produce it for the masses. His death was not her fault but it might as well have been.

"Aithusa was a gift for his son, a unique pet for one special little boy. He had no idea the dragon was really being held to ransom. Sarrum wanted me to cure his son of his illness, an illness that only seemed to appear after taking Witch's Fear. I thought the boy was allergic to it and I'm still certain of that but Sarrum would not listen. The sister had turned his mind so completely by then that whatever I said was coming out of a witch's mouth."

"But he still wanted your help," Merlin shakes his head at the hypocrisy. "They'll rant and rave how awful magic is but they sing a different tune when they really need it."

Morgana nods, letting this go unsaid. "I tried to reason with them, to see that they were poisoning him but the sister said his weakness was the boy's soul fighting the magic within, because the magic didn't want to go," she rolls her eyes, her belly turning over in anger at the memory.

"Was – was the sister knowingly poisoning the child?"

Morgana opens her mouth and closes it. She has thought this over many, many times and each conclusion is different. "Sometimes I think she did but I can't understand why, what would be the motive for it? What would she get out of it?"

"Some people need no motive. Some people are just…broken," he taps his head.

"I suppose…I tried to save him but nothing I did seemed to help. The boy…" Morgana smiles gently. "He grew sad and bored, he told me in a whisper once that he missed being able to light candles to make shadows on the wall with his hands," she says, tears in her eyes. "I knew if he died then I would have a fight on my hands, I knew Sarrum would not let me go easily. So I took him."

"Where?"

"I was going to take him to Avalon and the healers there. After that I thought he could live with the druids, live in the open air with people who would care for him…" she looks down at her plate again, her reflection distorted in the silver. "He – he died before we could reach anyone…"

"Sarrum blamed you?"

"Yes and he would have killed me but the sister talked him down. So he let me live…but only just."

Merlin tilts his head, eyes swimming with sadness. "I'm so sorry. You tried to help, you tried to do the right thing."

Morgana gazes at him intensely. "I would have cut Sarrum's throat, placed that boy on the throne like my puppet," her eyes burn before they lose all heat. "That's what I told myself in the dark, over and over but it was just the ramblings of desperation. There was no boy anymore, there was no throne. It was just me, Aithusa and the walls."

They sit in a heavy silence for a long time before Merlin speaks. "…Your magic, it's not tainted," he begins gently and she looks at him for a long time before staring at her hands.

"The power of belief is a terrible thing Merlin. I thought I was impenetrable, I thought nothing could get through me. I started to picture the confining walls inside my head, lining my skin. They could hurt me, they could swear and curse but nothing would really sink in to do any damage."

"Morgana…"

Merlin leans forward in concern and she realises she's crying. "I thought I was strong but even the smallest hole can weaken the foundation. I – I couldn't take it some nights, I would become delirious and scream for my mother, for my father but mostly for Arthur…but no one came. I have never felt such lonely misery…so when I was taken to the sister's room, a room full of sunshine and plants, it felt like being born again. She treated me gently, she gave me clothes to wear and fresh fruit to eat, she washed my skin and brushed my hair…"

Merlin nods, a thoughtful look on his face and she asks what. "I – well, that sounds like Gwen."

"It does and I would tell her about Gwen, about Camelot and my old life. This was towards the end, it was not like that at first," she adds, as if Merlin finds it deplorable. He nods in understanding and moves to sit closer.

"I have no trouble picturing the fight you gave them."

Morgana smiles briefly before it drops. "Do you have any idea how good it is to just talk to someone? To look at another face? Sometimes I wouldn't see anyone for months…" her face goes slack at the memory, remembering the cloth they would put over her head as she walked around the yard before lowering her back down into the oubliette. Sarrum had ordered no one to talk to her.

"She showed you kindness."

"I didn't want to feel gratitude or that elevated sense of excitement when they took me to her but I couldn't help it. Sometimes I had to stop myself crying I was so relieved. She made me feel like a person again but after some time that changed…" she frowns, plucking at a grape on the plate but not eating it. The light outside is growing dark, the sun setting.

"What happened?"

"She started to tell me about her beliefs, about her values. She told me that she was like me once, lost and using magic for ill purposes. She said it was late in her life when she saw the mistake she had been making with her life and how she could make up for it. She said she did not hate me, she wanted to help me, save me before it was too late. She said I was innocent, that none of what I had done was my fault. Magic was a corruption…She really believed that…And I suppose after awhile I started to as well. I thought I blocked out her words but they've been there all this time, like dormant seeds…"

Morgana sits back in her chair, looking drained. She stares at Merlin as he leans forward, hesitating before he takes her limp hand.

"I think some people create their own prisons. It sits up here," he taps his temple. "You didn't deserve what happened to you, though I think you believe I do," he leans forward and cups her face. "Magic is impartial, like the trees or stones, it's not good or bad. There is nothing evil about it, only how we use it…We all carry guilt for the things we do, we all hate ourselves for the choices that we make or don't but what happened to you was unforgivable and it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault…it was mine," he says it clearly, his eyes full of tears. "That's for me to carry, not you."

"You didn't make my choices for me Merlin," she replies gently as his thumbs wipe away a stray tear on her cheek.

"No but I let you wander a path I could have stopped you going down. I might have failed but I could have tried, should have…" he sighs, lowering his hands to lay on top of hers. Without thinking of it she laces her fingers through his.

"And what path are we on now?" she asks, half joking and his face becomes stone before he leans even closer with a deadly serious look on his face.

"I asked you to avoid the shore during the winter because I've been told you'll die there."

Morgana lifts her brows, processing this information in silence until she smiles. "Told? By the dragon? Well I have some information that refutes that. I have seen the future and I am very much alive."

_Alive and with a child…_

"Good, lets keep it that way. Promise me you'll stay far away from the sea?"

"And what will I get in return for such a promise?"

"Your life?"

Morgana puffs out a breath. "A funny life that will be. The Last High Priestess and I can't even make it rain without wanting to throw up. How dignified."

Merlin smiles. "You know the good thing about mind prisons?"

"What?"

"They can be knocked down. It might take some effort or none at all but sooner or later they'll topple. The water from the cup didn't work because there's nothing to cure. I think that's promising."

"Oh yes, I'm not sick, just mad," she remarks snidely and with a smile he pulls her up with him.

"I mean it Morgana, the only thing stopping you from using magic is yourself. You just have to find a way to work through it."

They stand pressed close to each other, Merlin smiling gently and Morgana, though tired, has not felt so light in a very long time. She gazes into his smiling eyes, eyes that flick down to her lips before looking back up. She could let him kiss her, a part of her wants nothing else but another part shies away. He blames himself for what happened to her and maybe he is right. He does not want forgiveness and she doesn't think she has it in her to offer it. What he wants is a chance.

"You want to help me?"

"Yes," he answers seriously.

"Do you want more then that Merlin?" she gazes at him steadily and he swallows, gaze softening.

"I don't think that's up to me."

"I asked what you want, not what you think."

His mouth curls a little. "Then I want to be your friend."

"Like the previous times you wanted to be?" she is toying with him now but the pulse of hurt is real. How can she offer him a way in again after being repeatedly burned?

"It's different now, you know it is. I'm offering you my help and it will always be there. You can take it or leave it," he says, though not unkindly. He will not hold it against her if she never calls for him again. If she is being honest with herself leaving that offer untouched would probably be the wisest decision. He places too much importance on Arthur and Camelot and she will always come second.

_Even if we have a child together?_

The question gives her pause, along with a thrill of fear. She does not know what sort of space Merlin has in his heart for others, how far he regards his duty against every other part of his life. The answer is she does not know and Merlin probably doesn't either.

_The one thing I do know is that the girl will not come to be if I shut him out completely. One night, one night is all it would take. Sacrifice a few hours for a lifetime of happiness…with or without him._

Before Amata she would have regarded these selfish thoughts with relish because the Morgana who wanted to kill her brother for his throne would use the girl to hurt Merlin, to deny him and everything he stands for. That young girl would grow to hate Camelot and everyone in it. A great sadness washes over her, a weariness at her past sins. She gazes at Merlin's patient face and feels a confusing splash of longing spreading through the sadness.

She kisses his cheek, her mouth lingering before she pulls away and heads to the door. "Thank you, Merlin."

* * *

They reach Camelot just as the sun rises the next morning, after travelling through the night. Merlin had not wanted to waste any more time. As they cross into Camelot the young monk pauses, looking unsure.

"What if my lands fail because I'm no longer in them?"

Morgana pauses and looks back. She had not thought of that possibility and she has an image of the grass at Galahad's feet growing yellow and brown. After this thought comes another, more morbid: what if the monk dies from being separated from the land? By the look on his face he may be thinking the same. Merlin shakes his head and with a wave of his hand a window opens in the air, making Morgana gasp.

"It's fine, see?" They peer closer and through the gap in the air is not grassland but a vast lake and trailing willows. Corbenic. "The curse ended with the Fisher King's death."

"But what will happen when I die?"

"I'm sure nothing will…but you might want to produce some heirs, just to be on the safe side." Merlin suggests and Morgana laughs at the scandalised look on Galahad's face. Merlin had told her that all of the monks are celibate, which she had known.

"Don't worry Galahad, I'm sure there won't be any arranged marriages in your future for some time…" she smirks at Merlin behind the monk's back, who grins in return before looking at the reddening monk with sympathy.

"You'll be back home in no time. Just a few days celebration at the king's revival, with you as guest of honour."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Galahad says, perking up.

"Be careful of the court ladies Galahad, they're tenacious," Morgana says and means it. One look at him and the court matrons will be scheming which one of their eligible daughters will be Galahad's betrothed. Especially once they learn of his heritage. Feeling sorry for the boy, who looks at the castle in the distance with more fear than he showed the beast, Morgana pats his arm. "Have courage, you won't be there for long. Just stick with Merlin, no ladies will bother you."

"Ha ha."

* * *

Mordred envelopes her in a tight hug as they reach the castle steps and she laughs.

"I've been gone a few days."

"Into the Perilous Lands," he counters and pulls back.

"I think we should start calling it by it's old name, Elmet. The land thrives again," Morgana motions to Galahad, who steps forward and offers his hand. Surprised but smiling Mordred shakes it.

"This is Galahad, he…he is the guardian of the Cup of Life." she struggles what title to give him, as he has many and each one he will bulk at.

"He's also the ruler of Elmet."

"I'm just a monk," Galahad says humbly as Kara appears and goes to Morgana. They hug and then the girl appears a little dazzled as she looks at the man in white, like the sun just shined into her eyes. Something unpleasant squirms in Morgana's stomach and she looks at Kara, who's cheeks are tinged pink.

"How is Arthur?"

"Alive. Since you've been gone his condition has not changed," she responds, collecting herself. She smiles. "Aithusa has not left his side. She's taken a shine to him," she says, looking up as Galahad and Mordred hastily make their way up the steps, Merlin leading the way.

"He's a monk," Morgana says and Kara turns to her with a guarded look, one that she has seen before.

"He does not follow the Old Religion?" she sounds level.

"No but he's…different," she makes her way up the steps and from above she can hear faint cheering that turns into booming cries of delight as knights strike their swords against their shields and what sounds like the entire castle takes up the cry.

Arthur is awake.

* * *

**a.n:**

_This was a bit of an info dump but Morgana talking about what happened has been a long time coming. _

_Just to let you know there will be a few more chapters left before I finish this story. I won't have the time to dedicate to it but when I do I want to write a sequel. Thanks for all the support!_


	22. Chapter 22

Late next morning she wakes to find Aithusa flying outside her chamber window. She has been informed that the dragon has spent most of her time in the sky, when she is not by Arthur's bedside. Her fear, much like her own, is still present but now easier to overcome.

"We're leaving today. I've neglected the Ilse for too long," she dresses as Aithusa swoops away and a thought plagues her. The dragon has constantly been at her side, there has been no question of that changing but now it is different. They are different. Maybe she will have to get used to not having her warmth constantly by her side. Dragons are made to fly.

Picking apart stale bread that some less than pleased servant has left her Morgana walks towards the physician's quarters. Servants and the odd knight pass her, head lowered and sullen. She is used to their hostility and fear, to them she will always be dangerous and untrustworthy but a sombre air seems to settle over the morning and her stomach twists. Arthur is awake, the water has cured him so what is wrong?

As she reaches the corridor leading to the chamber she sees Gwen outside, who does not realise she is there until Morgana gently touches her shoulder.

"Morgana! Sorry, I didn't hear you." She smiles but it dies quickly. Her eyes gleam with tears.

"What's wrong? Is it Arthur?"

"No, he's well," she says with relief but the happiness dims. "Gaius died in his sleep last night. Alice informed us this morning."

Morgana inhales, trying to think of what to say. She has mixed feelings concerning the old physician, and most of them less than kind so she keeps her tongue. She motions to the door.

"How has Merlin taken the news?"

"He's devastated but you know Merlin, he keeps his troubles quiet."

_As you do_, Morgana thinks and reaches out to squeeze her arm. "I'll speak to him. I want to say goodbye."

"You're leaving?"

"I have to go back. As you have your duties I have mine too," she smiles briefly and steps back. Strange, what has become of them. Gwen nods, composing herself and with a gentle goodbye she walks away.

Morgana grabs the handle to the door and inhales before entering. Merlin is sat by a work bench, his gaze focused on a high window, lost in thought. She clears her throat and Merlin turns to stare at her. His gaze is dark and heavy.

"I just heard. I'm sorry."

"Are you? You never cared for him," he answers curtly.

"How I felt about him doesn't matter. He meant something to you…" she trails off, feeling awkward. What Merlin cares about should not concern her but a part of her feels a pang of pity.

Merlin's hardness disappears and he slumps. "He was so close to retiring…"

"He was also old. It was just his time."

"We both know that's not true," he stands, his gaze now burning. Morgana pauses before speaking. She has been considering this possibility since they found the cup.

"The Cup has been used before to save the life of Sir Leon and no life taken in return."

"That we know of. Of course a life has to be taken in return. That's the price of using such magic," he rearranges thin bottles of ointments, gaze flicking between her and them.

Morgana lifts her brows. "You knew all along that a life would be taken? I don't know why I'm surprised; you would do anything to save Arthur."

"And paid the price for it," he answers bitterly and this time tears well in his eyes. They must taste like sadness and self-hate.

"You didn't kill him, you don't even know if there is any correlation. It was the will of the Goddess…and you know Gaius would have laid down his life for Arthur."

Merlin says nothing, inconsolable. He sits again and a pendant slips out of his shirt. He now wears the coin given by the Seers around his neck. It looks smaller. Morgana sits across from him and they remain that way in silence. She looks up at the short flight of steps to the room above.

"Do you still sleep in that little bed?"

"Yes," he rubs at his face, leaning back with a sigh. "Why?"

"You're the court magician; a room no bigger than a cupboard seems inept."

This gets a small smile out of him. "It's enough…and I'm not a court magician."

"You haven't told him?" she feels a flare of anger.

"It's not exactly the right time," he answers sarcastically before falling into a gloomy silence. Morgana wants to argue but knows that will just result in harsh words and a destroyed chamber. Merlin frowns, gaze flicking. "He seems…off."

"He's mourning."

"No, something else. He's healthy and sound of mind but when he speaks to me…" he trails off, shaking his head with a troubled expression. Morgana feels like laughing.

"You think he finally figured it out for himself? Well if he has I would applaud him, even if he's the last to know."

"No applause necessary," a quiet voice says and they turn to find Arthur standing in the doorway. Morgana jumps to her feet while Merlin remains. He appears stuck to his seat.

"Arthur!"

The king walks forward slowly, dressed in a shirt and breeches, sword at his side. He looks healthy, his skin no longer sallow but there is a weariness to his gaze that was not there before. His eyes are fixed on Merlin, who stares at him without blinking. He doesn't even appear to breathe.

"Do you deny it?"

Merlin opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He licks his lips and inhales, closing his eyes and tears bead and roll from under his lashes. He shakes his head and utters one guttural word.

"How?"

"I heard you talking over my bed, about getting the cup of life. You said you needed someone strong with magic: _you_." Arthur, who has been remarkably calm since entering, smiles and the first spark of rage flares in his eyes. "I thought it was a fever dream, I had misheard but I remembered everything that was said. I asked Gwen last night…" he shakes his head, smile falling. "She said nothing, she didn't want to betray you but it was all over her face. She has no idea that I know or that I'm here…"

Merlin struggles to speak, to breathe, he's so overwhelmed. Morgana looks between them. She had envisioned this and taken pleasure in the anguish Merlin would face but seeing it before her own eyes, seeing the suffering and shame on his face as he gets on his knees, head lowered, makes her feel sick with anger. This is the state of the world, playing out before her.

"Merlin get up," she urges but he doesn't listen to her.

"I'm sorry, I – I've wanted to tell you for so long," Merlin begins haltingly, staring up at Arthur who looks furious but restrained. He is moments from snapping.

"You've lied to me this whole time. Ten years you've been by my side, ten years and you said _nothing_," he looks bewildered, grasping for meaning. "How can you possibly have magic and serve alongside me? _HOW_?" he roars and Morgana pushes her hand against his chest to keep him back.

"No further," she warns and his blazing eyes snap to her.

"This doesn't concern you Morgana."

"I'm a High Priestess."

"Which means nothing! Priestess of _what_? A tumbling ruin and a handful of women?" he rages now, grabbing her arms. "Both of you have lied to me, both you should have told me! I'm your brother, I would have helped you!"

"A brother who kills people like me and Merlin. You've done nothing to protect them, nothing to make their lives safer. Your weak politics does nothing but rise yourself up and pushes us down in the dirt! Look at him," she yells, turning to point down at Merlin. "He's been nothing but faithful to you, insanely so, and here he is on his knees. This is why we never told you. What is love or loyalty when at the first hint of magic you turn your back on us?"

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT MAGIC!" he roars in frustration and pushes her away. "He was my _friend_, I trusted him more than anyone and you betray me like this!?" he directs this to Merlin who is now dry eyed but looking strangely hollow.

"I _am_ your friend and always will be, it wasn't a trick. I love Camelot and I want nothing but to serve at your side. I've tried to tell you so many times but the longer I left it the harder it was to say. I – I'm still the same, still the same idiot who polishes your boots, serves dinner and gives bad advice."

"I've been thinking about this all night and morning...I don't know who you are. Have you always had magic?" he asks and Merlin nods.

"Since I was a child. I only used it to help you, to save Camelot."

"Help me?" Arthur asks and Morgana can feel the air changing, the tension shifting dangerously. "Help to do _what_?"

"I–I've thwarted countless attacks, battles and assassinations with my magic. You see, it's not something to fear, it has a place here," Merlin gets to his feet, wincing a little. He holds out his hands in supplication, begging Arthur to see.

"So all the battles I thought I won was actually you?"

"No! I just helped!"

"As the druids and others who will join your army," Morgana adds but Arthur is deaf to her.

"You must think I'm an absolute fool. You must have been performing magic right under my nose and I never guessed. I am a bloody fool," he inhales an angry breath and as the scope of Merlin's betrayal sinks in the anger twists into a bitter pain. "I wanted to make Camelot a fairer place, a place where people felt safe and I know I have failed the druids but I told myself that I am not my father, I would be a better king. What a joke."

"You are a better king!" Morgana insists. "Don't let your feelings about this sour your plans! You're still going to invite the druids to come to Samhain celebration here, to pave the way to lift the ban on magic. Please," she whispers, taking his arm and gazing at him beseechingly. "Don't let his…and _my_ betrayal ruin this chance at peace."

Arthur stares at her and conflict battles across his face. "We've been burned so many times by your kind."

"You wouldn't even be here without our kind," Merlin retorts, surprising her. He has found his backbone but has he chosen a side?

"Don't answer back Merlin, you have no right," Arthur warns.

"I have spent my life protecting you and others and I won't apologise for that. I made a massive mistake and the cost is everything to me," his voice hitches but he keeps it together. "Morgana is right. Most people with magic live in hiding due to fear and percussion, people who have never done any harm to anyone. I believe you can make Albion a better place and I always will."

Arthur shakes his head. "You're not getting it. Do you think I can't separate my feelings about you from those of others? You think I'd punish the many because of the actions of a few? Or do you think I'm my father?"

"You know I don't."

"And yet you thought I would kill you for telling the truth? Lash out at others?"

"…No," Merlin answers, his voice shuddering.

"Then why?" the king's voice is soft, pleading to understand but Merlin can only shake his head. Whatever stopped him from sharing his secret is something even Merlin cannot truly fathom. Arthur sighs and rubs his tired face.

"I want you gone by tomorrow afternoon. Gaius' funeral will be tomorrow morning," he moves to go and Merlin reaches out to him but hesitates. His eyes are wide and glassy.

"For how long?"

Arthur looks over his shoulder, back to them. "…I don't know…but just be clear. I'm not doing this because you have magic. I can't trust you and I can't have you by my side if you still doubt me after all this time."

"I don't doubt you!"

Arthur turns and with a sudden movement he draws Excalibur. Morgana's eyes flash gold but Merlin only stiffens. Arthur points the sword at the ground.

"Do you remember leading me through the woods, telling me about a great king of Camelot who planted this sword into a stone? How only a true king of Albion could pull it out if he only believed himself worthy?"

"…Yes." Merlin looks like he's been punched in the gut.

"How much of that was true?" Arthur asks, his jaw clenching repeatedly.

Merlin remains silent, his breathing erratic until he bursts out an answer. "You were worthy!"

"Stop lying! I pulled it out because you were doing magic right behind my back! Do you deny it?"

Merlin shakes his head, defeated. "I just wanted you to believe in yourself."

"Now I doubt everything. How can I be worthy if all my success is down to you? What sort of ruler does that make me? No more effectual then a puppet."

"I never made you do anything!"

"No, you just pulled the strings so deceptively well I couldn't tell. But you're right," he says suddenly, looking at the sword. "I do need to prove myself a worthy king and pulling out swords from stones is no justifiable bases. I need to prove myself without you," he says and offers the sword to Merlin, who blinks at it.

"You need Merlin at your side," Morgana says. "You need someone with magic."

Arthur looks at her sharply and his reply makes her heart jump and squeeze at once. "I have Mordred." He looks back at Merlin, standing there like a wrathful statue until his former servant takes the offered sword.

"The sword is yours Arthur, whether you claim it or not."

"Out of my sight by tomorrow afternoon," Arthur repeats and turns to leave. When he gets to the door he hesitates, as if to say something else. His shoulders hunch and with an odd inhale he flings the door open and storms out. Merlin moves to go after him but Morgana grabs his arm.

"Leave him. There's nothing you can say right now to make it any better. He needs time," she gazes at his devastated face and without thinking about it she leans up and kisses his cheek. "I came to say goodbye."

"No," Merlin pulls her sharply to him, wrapping his arms around her and she lets him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. "Please stay?"

"Why?"

"You're the only friend I've got."

"Are we friends now?" she smirks, pulling back and is surprised at the comfortable spread of warmth. Whatever anger she harboured is still and calm. Merlin reaches up to brush tendrils of hair away from her face, staring deeply into her eyes with his half-frenzied gaze.

"Can I kiss you?"

"A pity kiss? Do you want that? Well, I did order you to kiss me when we say goodbye so –" she is cut off as his lips crush against hers. His hands grip her waist and she wraps her arms around his neck and her eyes flutter closed as his mouth travels from hers to lay kisses along her cheek, jaw and down her throat. They're light, almost there kisses, gone too quick, as if he can't make up his mind what part of her he wants to touch. His desperation, powered by grief and fear, is palatable.

"Come with me," he breathes against her ear, his arms now wrapped around her body.

"Where?"

"Everywhere. Arthur may have banished me but I still have a job to do."

"The beacons? I thought you said I should avoid the coast," she utters scornfully and his eyes grow round.

"It's what the dragon told me but now I doubt everything he says. Maybe you're meant to help me and that's not what he wants." He squeezes his eyes shut in pain and Morgana pulls out of his arms.

"He also told you to come to Amata. If you hadn't you wouldn't have found me."

They ponder this in silence before a bell tolls around the castle. A death knell. Merlin looks around the chamber, at the various bottles and bowls gleaming in the light and his face falls again. His heart is crushed.

"At least he never got to see this."

"I know you think this is over but this is just the beginning. Arthur will get over this, his anger will burn out."

Merlin shakes his head. "How can I have a place here now? He'll never trust me again."

"Trust has to be earned. If you want to be at his side you'll have to prove you deserve a place there. Anyway, from what I've seen you have friends here Merlin. You've spent weeks here, everyone knowing what you are, and your head hasn't been put on a spike has it? Arthur is not Camelot, Camelot is the people within it and I think they have your back."

As she says this a terrible sadness settles over her. This was her home once and while she may no longer be considered an enemy she has no real support here, no constant friends. She gazes at Merlin and laughs, which makes him frown.

"What?"

"Just thinking what a pair we are. If I can give you one bit of advice it would be to find a place and make it utterly your own. That way no one can take it from you without a fight."

"Right…" Merlin moves back, running his hands through his hair and looks back up at his room. "I – I better pack…" he says and sits back down, sword clasped beside his legs.

"I'll leave you alone," she says and he suddenly takes her hand.

"Thank you."

"This is it Merlin. No more chances."

"I know…" he presses his lips to her knuckles before she walks away, her insides writhing with a heady mix of emotions. Is she giving him that chance? She must be. As she gets to the door she composes herself and looks back.

"Remember who you are. The Goddess whispers in our ears, her breath fills our lungs and our blood sings with her magic. We get on our knees for no one."

She leaves him with her words vibrating around the still, sun speckled room.

* * *

**a.n:**

_So the reveal comes sudden but there's no way Arthur could be left in the dark after everyone else knows the truth. I'm planning on one or two more chapters before I finish but like I said before I want to write a follow up when I have the time._

_Thank you for sticking with this!_


	23. Chapter 23

Samhain dawns bright and unseasonably warm, the golds and browns of the trees vibrant in the sunshine. Morgana lifts her face to the sky, watching Aithusa swooping above and releases a pent up breath. The isle of the blessed lies behind her, the mist surrounding it impenetrable despite the sun. The isle is her seat of power, her chance at paving a new life for herself and others but despite her best efforts it does not feel like home.

The castle is haunted.

Since splitting the veil between the living and dead remnants linger but on this day their presence is felt most acutely. Catching one too many glimpses from the corner of her eye and flashes in mirrors that made her heart squeeze she feels a chill leave her as she heads towards Camelot.

_What would they say? The high priestess running from shadows…_

Pushing these thoughts from her mind she turns to look at the druids behind her, the chieftain riding calmly beside her. There are hundreds and their numbers growing. Not in decades has such a sight been witnessed in Camelot but today is different. For first time since the Purge the druids have been invited to the festival that the citadel throws every year. If they are nervous they do not show it.

"Arthur will use the celebration to formally decree the lift on magic, using the knights to proclaim it to all corners."

"Along with the Guardian of the Cup," Iseldir adds and Morgana nods. Galahad will travel the realm, curing the land and people. That had been Guinevere's idea, a clear sign of the good that magic can do. Morgana feels apprehensive.

"He must be protected. He's the only one that can handle the cup and so he will be targeted. If it falls into the wrong hands…" her suggestion hangs darkly in the air and Iseldir regards her calmly.

"The cup was never meant to be stored away, hidden from the world. It is to be used, that is it's purpose. The boy...is a singular individual."

Morgana smiles, thinking of the pure but achingly naive knight. He had been made a member of the Round Table, though she suspects he finds the whole thing bizarre. He is a monk first and those vows come first. Thinking of Galahad her thoughts turn to Mordred, who had promised to return to Camelot in time for Samhain. He is scouting the Saxons lands, gathering intelligence. If the Saxons are truly planning to attack them during winter, as unlikely as that is, they must know.

They pass into the streets of Camelot, the houses and shops decorated with carved turnips and squashes. Come night fall a little light will twinkle from each. As they reach the end of the street, passing town folk who stop and stare, a figure darts out before their horses and Morgana's heart jumps. A creature with a grotesque face stands still before them, small and terrible. It claws it's pale hands and growls quietly.

She calls on her magic, ignoring the dull throb of pain but before she can a woman runs into the street and cuffs the monster on the head and it's face falls off.

"A mask," she sighs in relief, feeling foolish as the small child is tugged back by his mother. As Morgana looks around she sees similar terrible faces and spots a stall selling the masks. This is new to her, masks have not been a part of the celebrations before.

"Do you think they want to scare us off?" she asks, half joking and receives no answer. Feeling jittery they move into the shadow of the castle, knights formed around the courtyard to greet them. If greeting is the right word…

"Morgana," Arthur says, coming towards her and the unease she felt fades. Since he woke and banished Merlin he has been reticent and moody but even on his worst day she regards his face with a gurgling happiness. She never thought she would be so happy to see her brother, who she once sought to kill. Maybe that is why she feels so elevated in his presence, she never expected him to take her in his arms with tenderness gain.

"You look well," she says, leaning back from their embrace. Since being cured he has confessed to never feeling better. She thinks that vitality would be tinged if he realised the price of his life.

_Gaius was old, it was no sacrifice,_ a cold voice says and a part of her agrees. The other part keeps her mouth shut. She does not want to burden him with the truth. She bows to the queen, who smiles warmly, taking her hand. Morgana looks behind them, forgetting that Merlin has not been seen in Camelot for weeks and feels her happiness soured.

The day is incomplete without him. Once again her mind turns to him, wondering where he is and what he is doing. Since their last kiss she has not seen or spoken to him. Thoughts inwards they usher her and the druids into the castle, the nomadic people given a warm though restrained welcome.

* * *

"Apparently he's making a fortune," Arthur says as they eat, the table before them weighed down by food. The Great Hall is noisy and filled with more people than is usual, though most of the druids are now outside in the courtyard, crowded around the bonfire. Morgana smiles at him, thinking of the mask seller.

"I nearly fell off my horse," she jokes. "Children have never worn them before."

"Which is a shame, think of the hours of fun we could have had."

"Fun is not the word I would use," she narrows her eyes at him, who has been turning the conversation to their childhood throughout the night. Maybe it is less painful than the future.

"Since the veil was split the people have been complaining about seeing things, things that churn milk and turn hair white," he explains in a theatrical whisper. "They came to me but I didn't have a clue what to do. I suppose I should ask the druids…" he contemplates and Morgana nods, half relieved he didn't ask her. She is the reason for the frights and masks. Even at her full power she does not know if she can heal the tear.

_Lancelot gave his life to seal it shut. I brought him back, thinning the veil...All my fault…_

"Masks to scare away the monsters…" she wishes it were so easy. Gwen regards her gently as Arthur turns to speak to a lord from the south.

"Have you seen Merlin? I'm worried about him," the queen speaks above a whisper, so Arthur doesn't hear. Any mention of his name results in Arthur leaving the room or filling it with an angry outburst. Morgana shakes her head.

"He said he was going to create the beacons around the island. I suppose he's in the east…"

"Can't you look for him?" Gwen flutters her fingers over a goblet of wine and Morgana gives a thin smile.

"I could."

"But you won't? Are you still angry at him?" she stares at her in concern.

Morgana wants to say yes but she pauses. Is she? Once she was, rage filled her heart but once that faded all that was left was an aching hurt. He had shot an arrow through her heart and no amount of magic could stop it.

"Merlin is a grown man, who by reports is more powerful than all of us gathered. I don't think he needs me peeking into his affairs," she replies dryly and Gwen offers a knowing smile and turns the conversation to something else. The queen knows her well.

As the sun sets and the town folk gather around the bonfire the courtiers dance, mingle and form alliances. Morgana, her body and mind comfortable buzzing with alcohol, remains by a window, watching the dancing. Familiar faces, faces that she has known since childhood linger on her and then quickly look away. She is not the girl they knew, she is an unpredictable danger, her past a constant dark shadow. She looks into her cup, feeling lonely and wishing that Kara was there. She has sent the less than thrilled girl with Galahad. She had wanted to go with Mordred but Morgana wanted an eye kept on the boy.

"Is the music not to your liking my lady?" a deep voice says and she looks up, masking her surprise. For a moment she thinks that it is Merlin and her heart gives a traitorous lift but the man before her is a stranger. Bright green eyes regard her like a cat, which is enhanced by his tilted eyes, giving him a mischievous look. He is tall and lean and very handsome. She smiles, narrowing her eyes.

"I like it well enough though it will probably stop the moment my foot touches the floor."

The man pouts in mock sympathy and leans on the wall beside her. "I see the way they try not to look at you, like a tiger just slinked in. They're frightened of you."

Morgana swallows her angry retort and looks at the blunt man. "You know who I am?"

"I do and yet here I am," he smiles but this one is not mocking, his gaze lingering until he turns away with a sigh. "Though it seems you do not remember me."

"We've never met," she replies, bemused.

"Well I say we have. I'm hurt and offended," he says, anything but.

"When did we meet?" she laughs, not caring that Arthur is looking at her in surprise across the hall.

"I was seven and you were five. I can't believe you don't recall. The meeting lasted ten seconds and each are printed up here," he taps his forehead and Morgana leans off the wall.

"You've been to Tintagel?"

"Of course. I believe it's good manners to visit your neighbours," he grins, toying with her and she recalls something faintly but she cannot grasp it.

"Are you going to tease me or are you going to introduce yourself?"

"Didn't think I'd have to but fine. My name is Urien, King of Rheged. It's a pleasure to meet you again at last."

At the sound of his name her stomach does a funny flip. She had come to Camelot at the age of ten, her mother and father dead but before that awful time had changed her life she had overhead quiet conversations about her future as the lady of Tintagel. Morgana groans and covers her mouth.

"You were my betrothed."

"Finally she remembers!" he cries and she can't help but laugh.

"That's not why you're here is it? Because if so I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you."

"Of course, the ribbons are all ready and the vows are being written as we speak," he grins again before it fades slightly and he finally regards her seriously. "Chubby twelve year old Urien was heartbroken to learn you were leaving but I got over it."

He motions to the crowd and she sees a little boy and girl, who appear to be twins, playing with a huge mastiff hound. His children. The knowledge that he is married sends a little pang of disappointment but she pushes it away. She feels like a teenager.

"Your wife?"

"No longer with us," he answers softly and all the mockery is gone. He is a good man, she thinks wistfully. Gazing at him in this unguarded moment she looks over his shoulder and catches sight of a glaring pair of eyes.

Merlin.

Shock floods through her at the sight of him. He stands above the hall, hidden from sight but in a shaft of light cast from the fire outside, his eyes are aflame with jealousy. Breath caught in her throat she watches as he shifts back into the shadows and she leans off the wall, as if he has pulled her.

"Is everything all right?" Urien asks and she snaps her eyes to him.

"Fine. If you'll excuse me I should be outside," she inclines her head in farewell and hastily leaves the hall, ignoring the wary glances she receives. Once free of the crowd she races up towards the galley, half of her wondering why she is doing this. If he gets caught it's on his own head. But the look in his eyes pulls her on.

"Merlin?" she whispers, entering the shadows of the galley. Nothing answers but after a heartbeat a flash of gold glows in the dark and she goes towards it, crouching low. His eyes still gleaming Merlin regards her calmly. The jealousy she had seen is utterly gone and she wonders if she imagined it. Dropping to her knees she hisses at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need your help," he whispers back, the magic fading from his eyes.

"What?"

"There's something in the vaults that I need, something magic that will help me build the beacons. I can't do it without this thing."

"And you want me to steal it? Do you want them to banish me like you?"

"No! Not stealing just borrowing," he reasons and she rolls her eyes.

"Why don't you get it yourself?" she asks and he does not answer but she sees a flash of unease passing over his face. Guilt. Morgana nods in understanding. "You're worried what Arthur will do if he catches you."

Merlin says nothing and she sighs. She is the last person that should help him and she wants to tell him that. Instead she glares at him, pushing him gently to make him waver.

"I'm missing a dance because of you."

His eyes narrow. "Who was that?"

Morgana smirks. "Not that it's any of your business but that was Urien. He's king to the north west. We're old friends, actually a little more than that," she adds, the lie coming easy and is rewarded with a clenched jaw and averted gaze. Her smirk turns into a smile.

"Well if you'd rather risk the country for a dance then please don't let me stop you."

She laughs. "You're the one risking everything because you're scared of getting caught!"

"Will you help me or not?" he says through clenched teeth, his hands on her shoulders. Speaking with Urien had unleashed a playful warmth, but now she is blazing.

"You know that Arthur will give the stolen artifacts back to the druids," she tells him and he smiles in surprise. "Unless it's something once belonging to the priestesses…" she adds, a spark of anger igniting. Arthur had told her that many artifacts are objects of dark magic, powerful and destructive. Be that as it may they do not belong here.

"It is something that was once of the isle. The mist that conceals the building, the druids and other places is generated by an object which is here. The beacons take a lot of power and I need it." Merlin whispers and she nods, thinking of the other artifacts in the vaults. She has many weapons and other magical objects stored in the icy castle on the lake of Ismere. Why stop there?

"Fine but if we get caught I will tell them you forced me."

Merlin snorts but does not reply. He stands and swiftly moves and Morgana follows. They stick to the shadows, ducking out of sight until they reach the gate leading to the vault. A few guards stand in the way, looking bored and likely wishing they were above. Merlin lifts a hand and whispers a spell and the guards begin muttering as music from above grows louder. They drop their swords and leave, laughing and singing along.

Once alone Morgana stares at Merlin. "It would have been safer to knock them out."

"The way is clear isn't it? Come on," he throws out a hand and the gate clicks audibly, the lock springing free. They close the gate behind them and Morgana waves her hand. The air ripples and suddenly figures stand before the gate, dressed as knights. Merlin smiles briefly before taking her hand and pulling her into the vaults.

As children she and Arthur would play hide and seek down here and she always won. Her step sure she leads Merlin through dusty and dark archways, passing old doors and empty rooms. As they pass a locked door Morgana slows, wrinkling her nose.

"Do you smell that?"

"What?" he asks distractedly. They have reached the part of the vault they seek, the various magical objects beyond. She moves from his side, looking at the door with a frown. She inhales and the hair at the nape of her neck rises. She presses her hand to the warped wood, not knowing that she is breathing heavily until Merlin gently touches her arm and she turns.

"Something is in there."

"We'll look but first I need the mist," he turns away and leaves her by the door, watching him break into the vault. Heart beating oddly she follows him, a shiver passing over her. The sights within dispel her unease as she comes across numerous objects, many of which a mystery to her. She passes a shroud covered shape and pulls it off, revealing an old mirror. She stares into the dark depths, a dark that seems to suck in the light cast from the torches on the walls.

"I can hear voices…" she utters softly, leaning closer and a shape emerges. A streak of light grows brighter until golden hair gleams, falling over a sad face. Her sister smiles sadly and Morgana jerks back with a gasp.

"What is it?" Merlin asks behind her back and she jumps. She looks back, pointing but the mirror is dark.

"It - it's nothing...just shadows. Have you found it?"

"No. It's round, made of glass," he says, though his gaze is still concerned. Morgana nods, moving away from his soft gaze. Since seeing him her body feels wound tight. She keeps her distance, searching through boxes and caskets, revealing many jewels and scrolls. All of this is hers, it should not be down here collecting dust. As her fingers trail over a stick of black wood Merlin makes a noise of triumph.

"Found you!" He holds up a small glass globe and as she moves closer she can see mist swirling around inside, as if trapped.

"What happens if you break it?"

"The whole of Camelot would be lost from the world," he answers cheerfully and Morgana stares at the globe thoughtfully. Such a small thing to house so much power. Merlin stares down at her as he carefully stores the globe away into a bag. "I want to study it, try to recreate my own...Thank you, Morgana."

"Don't thank me yet. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"What do you want in return?" he asks, his lips quirking and she holds her breath. What does she want? She wants her magic back as it once was. She wants the isle to be central and important again. She wants her nightmares to stop.

_I want to see a little girl riding on the back of a dragon…_

She smiles softly, looking down. "I'll call on you when the time is right. Right now...I have a ceremony to perform." She is not just there to enjoy the celebration. Samhain is a holy time.

"And dances to dance?" his voice is light but there is a tightness there. For the first time in many years he is cut off from the life of Camelot, as she was once and she remembers acutely how much it hurt and how ruthlessly she tried to smother that pain.

"I'm sure there are druids who dance," she offers, not unkindly.

"As there are kings," he replies, his mouth thinning and Morgana tries to hide her sharp smile as they move from the vault. No one crosses them, no one sees but it is not the living she fears.

"I don't feel like dancing today, of all days…" she says as they pass the locked door and again she is surrounded by a sweet but sickly scent. Swallowing convulsively she stops and with a halting voice she opens the door with a spell. At first she thinks the room beyond is empty, the dark inky but the scent overwhelms her and even Merlin lifts a hand to his face.

"I know that smell…" she says as she steps into the room. It is not as dark as she once thought, soft candle light bathes the far side of the room and she sees that others are fixed into the cold soil at their feet, their flames blown out by the door opening. Surrounding the candles are plants. The silence is a hush around them.

"Witch's Fear?" Merlin whispers in shock and Morgana nods, crouching down. She will know that plant blindfolded.

"I told you that Arthur would take the offered plant from Sarrum. I was right," she straightens, her stomach turning over.

"No, there must be a reason...the weed grows in the light, not the dark."

Morgana shakes her head. "The Sister, she's a botanist. She's cultivated them to grow like this," she stares down, her throat tightening and all at once her rage snaps free. She lifts a hand and the candle flames roar upwards, casting the walls with flickering shadows.

"No!" Merlin grabs her wrist, pulling her around to him. "You could set the castle on fire!"

"Good!"

"You don't mean that," Merlin pulls her from the room, snuffing the flames with a flash of his eyes. He bangs the door shut behind them, even as she fights to get back in.

"We can't just leave it there!"

"Don't act without thinking first. Confront Arthur, ask him why it's there."

"He's had weeks to confess."

"You don't know how long it's been there." Merlin reasons and she pulls her arm free from his grasp. She glares at him, defiantly.

"I'm not leaving until it's dead."

"Fine," he says and with a grim expression he places his hand against the door. At first she thinks that nothing has happened but the wood under his fingers begins to creak and crack until splinters flake off and fall at their feet. The door swings open.

He has removed every last bit of water from the room. The weed is dead.

* * *

The night sky is clear and the air still warm but she barely feels it. Merlin gazes at her in worry, hand on her arm. The mission a success he should be running for the coast but he stares down at her, conflict dancing over his face.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Please don't do anything that will get yourself hurt."

She laughs. "It's not me you should be worried about…" she looks at the castle above them darkly but it's quickly blocked from view as he moves before her. He makes her look at him.

"You're angry, I understand, but I don't believe this is for ill. You just need to speak to him, ask him why and give him advice."

"Which should be your job," she shakes her head. "He probably planted the seeds that Sarrum gave him as soon as he banished you."

"A precaution."

"You believe that?"

"He's about to lift the ban on magic Morgana! You don't do that and leave yourself defenceless."

"So what are the druids and others who have joined his army? Nothing?" she inhales deeply through her nose, trying to calm herself but the smell of the weed is still around her. Merlin sighs and pulls her closer to him, eyes intent.

"You can't deny that there will be those who still want to harm Camelot, the Saxons being the main threat. If I'm right and they've used Sarrum to spread the weed, weaken our magic then maybe Arthur is doing the right thing."

"You think he wants to use it against them? I want to believe that but he would have to force it down their throats. No I think there's one reason and one reason only that awful thing is growing in the dark: you."

Her word hangs in the air and Merlin stares with a stony gaze, his hands digging into her arms. She has no proof but she feels she is right. Merlin has hurt Arthur, more deeply than anyone and a part of him will likely never trust those with magic again, despite what Arthur says to the contrary. Suddenly Morgana feels tired. It seems to be one step forward and two back. Over his shoulder she can see people leaving the hall and ringing the huge bonfire there.

"I have to go."

"What will you do?"

"Speak to him, in the morning. Don't worry I won't throw him into the fire," she offers a sardonic smile, her anger soothing. Merlin looks at the people gathered and he smiles, despite the pain in his eyes.

"I never thought this day would come. I just wish…"

Morgana stares at his desperate and lonely face and is swept along by a wave of pity. "Then stay, watch. We did steal something that keeps things concealed...this is a day for all of us."

He nods, looking down and she sees that his hand is grasping the hilt of a sword. Excalibur. An idea forms in her mind and she looks at Arthur silhouetted against the fire.

"He said you planted it into a rock?"

Merlin looks up sharply, his jaw clenching, as if expecting her to scold him but at the thoughtful expression on her face he calms. "Yes. It was a stupid idea."

"No it wasn't. You should have put the same spell on the sword that you placed on the cup. Only the true king can pull it out,_ without your help,_" she stresses and he pulls the sword from its scabbard. The blade shines in the light, a streak of silver. Has she sensed the magic within it before? The very air vibrates around it, issuing a strange song. It is beautiful.

"The rightful king?"

She thinks of Vortigern, a stranger but one who is throwing everything into his claim. Does he deserve a chance? Would something so simple avoid war?

"Do it," she breathes, gripping his wrist and he stares intensely into her eyes.

"Sticking his sword into a stone will probably make Arthur even angrier."

"Maybe but he is angry because he thinks he's unworthy. He wants to prove himself," she brushes her fingertips along the blade. "Mordred has now been sent as conciliator to Vortigern, to booker terms. If he agrees to come, to take part in peaceful talks...maybe he will be open to testing his worth against Arthur."

"Vortigern is not the rightful king," Merlin snaps. "Do you think he's just going to go home after failing? He'll fight us."

"But he'll be here, where we have the upper hand. We can destroy him."

"We?"

Morgana feels her face heating and she clenches her jaw. "My magic is not as powerful as yours, you don't have to remind me -"

"That's not what I meant," he utters softly and glides his hand up her arm. "All I want is for us to work together. There is so much we can share, so much good we can do."

She stares at him for a long time, lost in his hopeful eyes before she shakes her head softly. "It's a dream Merlin. I don't trust you and I think there's a part of you that feels the same."

"No," he says, reaching for her face but she leans away.

"I said this is your last chance and I meant it...don't ruin it," she says softly, as much as it hurts she knows it's the truth. This shaky truce is so fragile and easily broken. She steps back from his suddenly hard face, the sword pointing at the ground.

"You think I place Arthur above everything, above you...and you're right," he confesses and her heart seizes. "I've been so focused on him, on my destiny that I only realised how much I was missing until it was gone," his voice catches but he carries on. "I'd give my life for what I believe, for what I love."

"For Arthur," she says, unable to look at him. He lifts her chin.

"For what I love," he repeats gently and Morgana feels her heart aflame with want. It is the most terrible feeling, uncontrollable and consuming. She could give into it, let it fill her up but a scared voice strikes through her like ice.

_His love is compromised, it is a teetering balance. You may be placed higher one day but when the day dawns red and blood flows over fields you know which way the scales will swing... _

Morgana shakes her head. "I'm selfish, you know this. I would take your heart if it meant it was all mine. I think we'll ruin each other in the end."

He shakes his head, pulling her back to him but she gives him a weary look and his fingers relax. She looks over her shoulder, seeing Urien against the flames with his little twins.

"Who is he to you? Really?"

Morgana gazes at his tormented eyes and a bribe is on her tongue, something to make him burn but instead she shrugs with a strange smile.

"Just someone I would have married in another life."

Merlin's eyes blaze for a moment and his fingers grow tight before he offers a lopsided smile. "When I first came to Camelot I thought you would marry Arthur."

Morgana looks at the king who guides the queen to a plinth and answers quietly. "So did I…" Uther still has much to answer for and maybe today is the only time she would get those answers. Morgana shivers. She pulls away, feels Merlin's breath against her cheek before he moves back, sinking into the shadows. Feeling hollow she moves towards the light, thinking of lives not come to pass and those that might as Aithusa flies in circles above the castle.

* * *

The ceremony over the festivities become even more raucous, people from the towns and villages crowding around the fire. Drink flows freely, laughter and singing drowning out the crackle of the fire but Morgana casts a doubtful look over the crowd. They do not mingle, as it appears at first glance. The courtiers stay away from the common folk and both avoid the druids, who do not seem to mind. At the king's proclamation the crowd had taken the lift on magic in an odd silence, as if they were waiting for Arthur to tell them it was one big joke. But when he did not they had formed into their groups and muttered darkly together.

"Hopeless…"

"I don't know, I think if you try a bit harder someone may dance with you."

Morgana turns to Urien, her mouth twisting into a smile. "You fear nothing do you?"

"On the contrary I fear water, which is unfortunate seeing as I also rule over a series of islands."

Morgan shakes her head, trying not to smile. She narrows her eyes at him. "You keep seeking me out, I presume there's a reason for it? And don't mention dancing or I will be forced to dance with Monmouth to spite you."

He throws up his hands. "Fine. I actually need your help."

"Really? With what?"

"My daughter, Morfydd" he motions to a sleeping child sat with a maid and another little boy, her brother.

"Is - is she unwell?" she moves forward without thinking but Urien shakes his head, stopping her.

"She's quite well. She and Owain turned ten this year and something changed in her…" he leans down, voice low. "She has magic."

Morgana inhales, staring more intently at the child and then back to Urien. "Does she know?"

"Of course, she's the one that wants to go to the isle. She was just too shy to ask you herself."

Morgana feels her throat tighten. Once this little girl would have been forced to live in secret, her life restricted but now it is different. Excitement tingles through her, masking the pain she had felt before but something dampens her joy.

_How can I teach her with my magic so weak? She should go to the druids_...She stares at the child, a child who will one day become a queen and looks at Urien thoughtfully.

"Why me? Why not approach the druids?"

"I could but well, not to be indelicate, she is of royal birth. She has to learn the ways of the court as well as how to control her magic. Who better than you?"

"You would let her come to the isle to study?"

"I want her with me but I don't know the slightest about magic and I want her to be safe...will she be safe?" he asks and he is deadly serious.

"On my life," she utters and thinks of Merlin, how happy he would be to witness this. She looks towards the shadows and feels assured he is hearing every word.

"I told her once the winter is over and spring arrives then I'd consider it."

"The isle is not ready to be inhabited just yet. I could come to you or…" the image of the girl studying at Tintagel comes to vibrant life in her mind and she has to stop herself laughing. She smiles up at Urien, taking his arm. "I take it you remember the way to Trevena?"

"I think I know the town better than you," he retorts, unknowingly hurting her but she hides it. It has been many, many years since she visited the place of her birth. She exhales and all the worry and anger she has been carrying escapes. She smiles up into his face and tilts her head.

"Thank you, for trusting me. I will help her." Morgana looks at the sleeping twins, their red hair gleaming in the fire light and then eyes the man beside her. "You're a good father."

_I never saw the father in my vision...is it Merlin or is it someone else?_

As she and Urien move towards the fire the shadows around the courtyard darken and above them a mist starts to form but she is blind to it all until the ground starts to tremble, making the dancers stagger for balance. Morgana grabs Arthur as he unbalances near the bonfire and then she involuntarily claps her hands over her ears as a shrill noise fills the air, preceding a blinding flash of light.

"What is that?" Gwen asks, crouched by Morgana.

"It was from the town," Arthur says and with a nod towards Leon he and the knights run from the courtyard. The guests follow after a pause, even the druids. Morgana takes Gwen's hand, not to lose her and they are lead through the town towards the chapel, a large round building made of stone.

"...What on earth…" Gwen breathes as they move through the gathering town folk and stop before the front of the chapel. A huge rock, which seems to have burst from the very earth, rises before the chapel, illuminated by the stain glass window above. Embedded in the stone is a sword.

Morgana looks at Arthur and watches the way he stares unblinkingly, not moving. She looks back at the rock and sees that something is etched around it. She leans closer to read.

"Whoever pulls the sword from the stone will be the rightful king of Albion."

"...Merlin," Arthur breathes, shaking his head and for a second she thinks he sees a smirk on his face before he turns to Guinevere and his face is hard as the stone behind. He looks furious.

"Sire? What shall we do?" Leon asks.

"Fence it off," Arthur says after a pause, giving Excalibur one last glance. Morgana frowns.

"You won't try?"

"I won't be fooled twice," he mutters and Morgana knows she's made a huge mistake. She should never have talked Merlin into it. The town folk are speaking animatedly to each other, looking at the sword in wonder.

"So if I pull it out I become High King?" a little girl asks and is met with laughter. Arthur stares down at her sadly, shaking his head and moves away.

"Fence it off," he repeats and leaves the gathering crowd.

"Well I'm not going to waste this opportunity!" A voice says behind her and Morgana turns to see Urien climbing the rock. He waves at the crowd, who cheer and then gives a bow with a flourish before he takes the sword hilt in hand and pulls.

The sword does not move an inch. Morgana smiles despite herself, amused at his gallant attempt. He jokes with the crowd, waving for his children to be brought up to have a go and as she looks behind her she sees a line has formed.

"This is what happens when we conspire. Oh Merlin..."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_Hello, long time no update. I've been without internet access for weeks but it's back now *fingers crossed*_

_So there should be one more chapter, which I'll post tomorrow. That will lead to the next part of the story, which I'll start in the future but this fic will be finished. Thanks for your patience!_


	24. Chapter 24

Winter grips the west coast of Albion hard, the small villages flooding frequently before the very seas freeze. The castle of Tintagel stands above the half frozen sea of Meredor, the small fishing town huddled in it's shadow. Tintagel sits atop it's own island, the path to the mainland cut raggedly into the cliff edges before forming into swing bridges. It is not an easy place to live but it is safe.

Morfydd shivers before the bowl of water and lays her bare stocking clad feet against Aithusa's side, who sits below. The dragon can be found on most days huddled by the large fire and the girl is not far behind. Morgana smiles.

"What do you see in the water?" she had been pleased to discover the girl had the gift of sight, however that is where the similarities end. Morfydd is shy and has to be encouraged to ask questions. How can Urien have such a timid daughter?

"...Ice?" she says, her northern accent soft. Morgana leans forward and sees a skim of ice in the bowl and smiles at the girl.

"Sit by Aithusa, the bowl in your lap."

She does it, huddling in the dragon's warmth, who Morgana knows loves the contact and attention. Since coming to Tintagel the dragon has soared over the raging seas, something that the damaged dragon wouldn't dream of doing a year ago. Morgana stares out of the narrow window and is met with a land blanketed in snow.

"Now focus...what do you see?"

She hears the girl sigh and then silence. The sky is a spotless blue but she can see mist on the horizon, though she does not think it will move inland. She has missed this changeable land.

"I see...nothing," comes Morfydd defeated voice and Morgana turns. Steam rises from the bowl and the girl is squirting with all her might. Morgana laughs and takes the bowl from her lap.

"Ice and dragons don't mix. Go on, you've done enough for today. I think your brother is with Galahad." Owain has come with his twin and since Galahad arrived the boy has been training under the knight.

Morfydd smiles but it does not reach her eyes. Morgana leans down and touches her cheek. "You have done nothing wrong. Not many your age can do what you do. Now go and play."

Morfydd smiles, her face going red and with a happy noise she turns and runs from the room. Aithusa rises, grumbling at the loss before settling down. Morgana cocks an eyebrow.

"You are a distraction. I am trying to teach her you know!"

Aithusa lifts her snout and wings in a shrug. The dragon will soon be too big for the room, barely fitting through the door. She will have to build her a purpose built dwelling…

As she thinks this she hears the gate opening, the hinges cracking audibly, and leaves the room. Reaching the courtyard she sees the hooded visitor and she grins, throwing out her arms.

"Mordred!"

The knight has been out of her life for months, either in Camelot or across the sea. He had sent word that he would like to spend the next two weeks with her and Kara. He smiles, pushing back his hood and embraces her. Kara emerges from the castle, Galahad not far behind.

"I've missed your face," he breathes as he catches sight of Kara, who smiles as he pull her into his arms. Mordred look at Galahad, who stands a respectful distance and smirks. "Yours too monk."

"Thank you druid," Galahad inclines his head, mock serious and Morgana looks between them. The monk and druid have formed a surprisingly tight friendship. Though not so surprising, she considers, they are cut from the same noble cloth. Her gaze turns to Kara, who stares at the two men and her stomach falls. It is a familiar feeling now. She hides it well and would outright deny it but Morgana has seen the way the younger woman's gaze lingers on Galahad.

Not that the monk would know, he seems quite sure that the druid girl hates him and Kara does not give him any reason to doubt that.

"Next time Arthur sends you across the sea you will not be going alone."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"I was dying of boredom," she whines and Galahad looks aside, smiling down at Owain who appears at his side. Like his twin the boy is shy but a little more forthright than his sister.

"Who can be bored when a dragon sleeps beside your bed?" he whispers and Galahad shrugs. The cup he guards is housed in a box slung over his back, a thing that Morgana has made him. None can take the cup but she has enchanted the box to open only for him. She will take no chances.

"Come in from the cold."

The white dragon rushes to the door, excited to have new guests. The twins sit by the fire as the adults eat and drink until the sunsets over the frozen sea. Sending the grumbling children to bed Morgana asks Mordred for news.

"As you know, I didn't even get to talk to Vortigern. They let me leave unhindered but I thought they would kill me. From what I saw and heard they don't seem to be planning to attack."

Morgana nods. She had never believed they would seek war in such weather. "Whatever the seers saw they must be mistaken. No one attacks during winter."

They fall into a thoughtful silence, the noise from the half frozen sea a constant companion. She gazes at Mordred, who seems lost in the fire. She wonders what he thinks of and what is troubling him. She is pulled from her reverie when Kara stands and brings Mordred up with her.

"Sleep calls," Kara says and Galahad stands politely. The girl ignores him, her arm linked through Mordred's. Once alone the knight sits back down. Unlike most of the knight he still favours white. He shines in the dark. The box he carries everywhere is on the table, small and unadorned.

"Have you enjoyed your time here?"

"Oh yes. Where I lived before it was just me and the other brothers. It's nice not to be the youngest..."

"Feeling broody?"

His face goes red. "I'm not much older then they are."

"Old enough to father children. Elmet is your land and one day you'll have to pass it on."

"One day," he stresses, very uncomfortable and Morgana drops it. Her hand settles on her stomach. The dreams of the girl have been constant, a wonderful release after so many nightmares. She is beginning to wake in the morning expecting to see the girl at the end of her bed. When she wakes alone she battles down disappointment. Her desire for that future grows stronger every day.

She bids Galahad goodnight, moving to her feet when Aithusa rushes to the window and Morgana follows, frowning. The day has been clear and cold, but the mist she saw over the sea now blinds her view, a swirling whiteness. She rubs the dragon on the head, smiling but then stills. The mist spirals in patterns, the movement caught by the light of the fire behind her. She lifts her hand and her skin tingles as the fog touches her.

"Magic…"

Too large to fit through the window Aithusa races from the room and moments later she sees her white bulk descending from the tower roof above her chamber. Morgana and Galahad make their way through the castle, after the knight grabs the box.

"Is it an attack? I can't see anything," he asks and Morgana shakes her head. She knows what this is and an involuntary smile plays over her mouth. Bursting into the freezing cold she pulls her furs up around her neck and throws out an arm to make Galahad stop.

"Aithusa," she says quietly and after a pause a flume of fire issues above, dissolving the mist. Their path illuminated in bursts of light they follow the dragon above, who leads them to the cliff edge. At first she sees nothing through the mist until a small dark shape materialises, hidden amongst some bent over trees. A hut.

Morgana smirks, eyeing Galahad before she leans down and raps her knuckles swiftly on the door.

"Trespassers are punished!"

"...How bad?" comes a low voice after a pause.

"Depends how quickly you're going to make us wait in the cold."

Morgana steps back as Merlin opens the makeshift door. Beyond the hut is small and sparse, just a thin bed and weak fire. He did not want his presence noticed, she thinks. She cocks an eyebrow at him and then waves her hand in the air. The mist swirls around her like a veil.

"If you wanted to hide you've done a poor job Merlin. This mist screams your whereabouts."

"I haven't finished yet," he counters. It has been months since she saw him and in that time his hair has grown, curling over his forehead and a beard is starting to grow. He looks half wild. A heat flashes through her before she immediately starts to shiver.

"We should let him get back to it," Kara says from behind them and Morgana turns. She and Mordred are making their way to them, a ball of fire illuminating their path. The druid girl regards Merlin with the same distaste and part of Morgana is amused. She is the one who has been hurt and yet Kara is the one who will not let her ire go. The girl is all bristle and stone.

"This is no condition to sleep in the elements," Galahad reprimands gently and Kara snarls at him. Morgana is pleased to see the knight hold his ground. "It is bad form to refuse guests."

"If they're welcome," Kara replies dryly, looking at Morgana expectantly. Years ago Morgana would smirk and leave Merlin to sleep in the snow and not before snuffing out his fire. Now she looks at the lonely man and narrow her eyes.

"Are you hungry?"

"...Starving," he answers, eyes mirroring hers, looking for a catch. Morgana turns, moving past the others and they follow. When Merlin does not she stops and tilts her head at him.

"Well? Or do you want to be snowed in by morning? I'm not going to dig you out."

Merlin smiles and hastily grabs his things from the hut before following her into the castle.

* * *

"Some town folk are starting to charge people to draw the sword from the stone," Morgana shakes her head, goblet of hot wine in her hand. Merlin shakes his head, groaning as she speaks. "Arthur had a wooden fence made but that didn't keep them out so he's replacing it with iron."

"Has he even tried yet?"

"You know the answers to that. He pretends it's not there until something like this happens."

"Does he really think it's a trick?"

"...I don't think he ever has. I think he's scared."

Merlin sighs tiredly, rubbing his face. They are sat at the small table in her study, an eaten plate of food before him. Since he has been travelling up the east coast he has missed a lot of news. "He has nothing to be frightened of. He is the rightful king."

"I think even if he did pull it out he would still need to prove himself. He has been working tirelessly to welcome those with magic into Camelot, he's even in talks with the Catha."

"That's great," Merlin says and though he means it his gaze falls to his cup. Morgana leans forward, voice soft.

"He will come around. He needs you by his side."

"I thought Mordred was that person."

Morgana leans back, remembering her harsh words. "Mordred has done a lot to further the freedom of our people...but he cannot be the king's friend."

"Friend? I'm not even considered good enough to clean his boots any more."

"Which is a good thing. Arthur needs to witness what you can do, the sword was the first. He needs to put the ghost of servant Merlin to rest."

He snorts. "He banished me Morgana, I'm not dead."

"The person you were is, just as the person I was is no more."

Merlin gazes at her, his eyes conflicted. "I don't know...I wander, sometimes with the druids but mostly alone. Though they would have come with me but I thought the isolation would help me see," he shakes his head. "I'm not a servant any more but I'm not like you."

"Like me?"

"You...wear the role so comfortably. High Priestess."

Morgana makes a derisive noise and puts her cup down. "I have no idea what I'm doing Merlin. All those that came before me are dead and their knowledge and wisdom with them. I'm just weaving bits and pieces together and hoping no one notices. It is a role, a performance, but I think if you do it often enough it stops being make believe."

She feels comfortable with her duty now more than ever. Her purpose is clear and her resolve unwavering. She would do this even if no magic ran through her veins. She is doing what she feels is right.

"This age is coming to an end…" he mutters and Morgana stares at him with wide eyes. He straightens, smiling apologetically. "Knowledge is sparse, places of magic are hidden or threatened and our numbers are weak since the purge."

"What are you saying?"

"I go from seaside port to fishing village, making the beacons and I wonder what's the point. Magic is coming to an end."

"No. You of all people should not believe that. Didn't the Dragon tell you that a Golden Age is awaiting us?" his despondency make her stomach tighten.

"He did but then I think that old beast likes to twist his words. A Golden Age...but for who?"

"Merlin I think you've been by yourself too long. Have another drink," she pushes his cup back into his hands and he takes it with a small smile.

"I'm a morose drunk," he jokes and sits back. He regards her closely, gaze longing and Morgana lifts an eyebrow until he drops it.

"You can't have finished all of the beacons to the east. What are you doing here?"

"...You know why. The dragon lies but he was not wrong about you. I asked you to stay away from the coast during winter."

"This is my home," she counters, lifting her chin. "I'm not some little defenceless thing you have to protect Merlin. My magic has been growing stronger," she reveals and he grins, leaning up.

"Really? That's wonderful."

Morgana nods. Since teaching the girl the bouts of sickness and dizzy spells are not as strong as they once were. Whatever the sister did to twist her mind it seems to be releasing it's grip. "So don't worry, I'm not going to slip on some ice and die."

Merlin does not laugh. "I don't have visions as frequently as you but they happen. I - I've been dreaming about you every night and the closer I come the stronger they are."

"Maybe you should have stayed away," she answers without thinking and he stiffens. He blinks in consideration, breathing heavier.

"Maybe you're right," he stands and she goes up with him. She places her hands on his arms, making him stop.

"Nothing is going to happen to me. I've spent too long being helpless and I won't become that again. Stop trying to save me, you've already done it."

Merlin nods and smiles at her. "I understand," he moves back respectfully and then a light of excitement shines in his eyes. "I actually want to show you something." He pulls the large leather bag he brought with him and pulls out a wooden box.

"A chess board? Do you want to play a game? Prepare for defeat," she says brightly but he shakes his head with a smile.

"It was but not any more. And if this was a chess board I think you're the one who should be prepared for disappointment. I have an unbeaten record."

"Hmm that's because you've never played me. What is it?"

"A map of Albion."

The box has two wooden flaps covering it, ornately carved with a scrolling pattern. Morgana expects to see a map carved into the board within but when he opens the box she stops breathing.

The island, from the highlands of the north to the tip of the coast where she resides, lies within a half frozen ocean. She leans closer, still holding her breath, and sees seagulls swooping over waves, snow blowing against the side of a cottage and the cold from the frozen mountains chills her face. She looks south, searching for the isle of the blessed and squints. The vast castle has tiny scaffolding along equally tiny walls. If she could rise a thousand feet up in the air and look down on Albion she thinks this is what she will see.

_The map is alive._

All the air escapes her lungs and she leans back. Merlin has not said a word through her inspection and she sees he's waiting in apprehensive silence. She stares at him open mouthed before she can speak.

"You - you made this?"

"Yes. I got the idea from the map in Amata. Only this one shows where the beacons are placed," he points and she looks down again. She had not noticed before, too overwhelmed, but along the east coast she sees minuscule lights twinkling through scuffs of mist. The beacons.

"How have you done this? Who taught you?"

"No one. I just, well, I had some time on my hands," he shrugs and Morgana can't help gawp at him. He has no idea how astounding he is.

"Merlin this is beyond impressive. I've never seen anything like this and I doubt anyone else has either. It's alive! I can see candle light shining from windows! You've made the map night time and I bet it shines with light when the sun rises! You have created something new and it's...beautiful."

As she says this something Merlin had said before comes back. This age is coming to an end and she had bulked at it but maybe it is not something to be frightened of. She grins at him, swept with his innovation and grasps his arm.

"Imagine if it was the globe…" he says thoughtfully, looking at the map like he's not quite happy with it and Morgana laughs.

"You said this age is coming to an end. All the magic we perform is old and worn out but maybe this is a sign. We're meant to build something new."

"Together," he adds happily and she nods. He laughs and takes her arms in his hands, pulling her towards him. "I never thought you'd be so...impressed."

"For once you are not a clotpole Merlin," she pulls back, thinking of all he could teach her and a hunger for it grows inside her. "You have to write it down, pass it on," she thinks of her own students and suddenly pictures him teaching beside her.

"I didn't really follow instructions, I just…" he waggles his fingers at the box and she narrows her eyes.

"What else can you do?"

"What do you want?" his lips quirk.

"Surprise me," she whispers, her mind and body warm and open. Months ago she told him they would ruin each other, now it feels like they can only renew.

"Close your eyes," he instructs gently and she does it. She inhales when he takes her hands and slowly laces his fingers through hers. For a moment nothing happens but then she feels a faint pulse, like a heartbeat, one that throbs around her. Tingles flow from their hands, down her arms in a gentle caress and her mouth parts, exhaling at the feeling. Her own heart beating hard she leans closer, unable to stop herself. For all the time she has known Merlin she has never felt his magic, it's presence more like a void but now he is sharing it with her.

Her magic is like a sun sitting in her chest, pooling its heat through her and she can draw on the magic around her like a sponge but as she gasps and sways his magic overwhelms her in it's vastness. His magic flows from the ground at their feet, from the air drawing into his mouth and the heart beating wildly in his chest. His blood flows gold.

Merlin is magic and magic is Merlin.

She gasps, her fingers gripping his tightly and he tugs her to him and she wraps her arms around his neck, wanting more, her eyes squeezed shut as if she's blinded by the sun. Never has he shared this with anyone, to open yourself up in such a way is when they are at their most vulnerable. Anyone else she could channel his magic and sap him dry. But not Merlin. Merlin, duplicitous, confused but kind Merlin could sink Albion with this power and in the face of such strength it produces a fear deserved for gods.

But she is not frightened, she is transcended.

"The goddess created you," she whispers, finally opening her eyes to meet his. They glow like gold. He does not answer. He pulls her forward and their lips touch, a soft meeting but the magic erupts, flowing uncontrolled around the room. Tables and chairs shaking, pictures swinging, he pulls the furs she wears away from her body, making her shiver but his hands burn through the fabric of her dress and she wants to feel them on her bare skin. She guides them towards her canopy bed, never breaking away from him but as her legs touch the furs hanging off the end of the bed he pulls back.

"Are you sure?"

She has been imagining this moment since dreaming of her daughter but never thought the emotion rushing through her possible. She gazes into his eyes and she can feel how restrained he is, how taut and wants to feel what it is like when he snaps free. That is a titillating promise but also a great risk. Her heart is a guarded thing, bruised and secretly soft and pliable. She will not survive it being broken again.

"I said I'd take your heart once. If you hurt me I'll do it and never give it back. I promise."

"And I said it's already yours," he whispers, lips brushing hers before he regards her seriously. "I never want to hurt you again, like you I want a new beginning and I won't do anything to risk that. I love you, even if you don't."

His soft words sink in and his magic pulses through her. She inhales, trying to keep herself together. She cannot tell him what he wants to hear but maybe she can start somewhere. "I don't know what tomorrow will bring but tonight I know what I want," she brushes her fingers along the stubble of his jaw, her mouth hovering at the corner of his lips before whispering in his ear. "Show me who you want to be."

He exhales, a pent up shudder, and then he picks her up and lays her down on the bed. The last time they had made love she had felt a similar desire, spurned by alcohol and a fair amount of jealousy only for it to end in dissatisfaction. Now with nothing left to hide and magic building between them Merlin does not pull away and she finally lets the tight walls around her heart unfurl.

He whispers a spell and the ribbons keeping her dress together slide apart, revealing her heaving chest. In the past she had caught a look in his eyes, a dark predatory gleam and something in his gaze shines like that now, a fierce want and desire. She curls her lips, hands by her head and watches him strip her bare, woollen stockings the last thing to be removed, and when she is naked beneath him she rises and rips his shirt off with her hands.

They are not gentle and she's not sure they can be, not with so much power throbbing around them, waiting for an outlet. Moaning she drags her nails down his chest and is rewarded with a growl before he grabs her hands and pushes them down.

"I think I'll miss our fights," she says, bucking under him and he gasps. This tension would erupt one way or another, be it fighting or through other means...

"This is much, much better," he groans, mouth against her cheek and she smiles up at the canopy and then captures his mouth, parting his lips with her tongue. They kiss and the tension in her stomach loosens and she lets herself sink into the feel of him. He moves between her legs, and golden eye to eye he pushes into her.

The magic laps over her and then inside like molten waves, slow but steady. She releases a low moan at the feeling. It's an utter completion.

"How did I never sense this?"

"It - it's not like with anyone else?" he asks, curious and she shakes her head.

"Not with magic...but you're not like anyone else. It feels..." she shudders, unable to put it into words.

"I know," he kisses her mouth gently and then begins to move and she rolls her hips, placing her hands against his back. He rises up on his arms and she draws her knees back, the smile on her face a clear challenge and with a fierce gleam he thrusts hard into her, making her neck arch with pleasure. She is a dominant lover, she likes to feel men come apart below her, not allowing herself the same position because sex had always been a game of power and who holds it. When she starts gasping his name, pleading and mewing for more a part of her is startled at the unabashed writhing response but soon she is too far gone to care.

Bed thumping against the stone wall and her cries echoing around them the power, connected through a cosmic tether, starts to vibrate and it sings in their ears, growing deeper and louder until their hard and fast rhythm starts to come apart, ecstasy reaching a fevered pitch.

Unable to speak or breathe as this feeling rolls over them in waves, bodies beading with sweat and strained with feeling they cling to each other until he spills into her heat and the scream trapped in her throat is freed. Orgasm blasting through her she senses something in that hot dazzling sensation and it fills her with a helpless joy.

This was always meant to be. Like calls to like.

* * *

Sated and feeling comfortably normal she lies on her stomach, looking down at the map as Merlin traces shapes along her bare back. She points.

"I can't see Tintagel." The castle, coast and town is obscured by mist.

"I haven't completed the spell yet. Once I do you'll see a little light. If anyone tries to attack or invade they'll never find any land...if they break through the light will shine a warning."

"What is the light?"

"A bowl of oil. I place a stone marker, with a rune cut into it, and carve a place for the bowl and then light it. The flames will never go out."

"Never?" she hovers her finger above the mist and then lowers it. The fog parts around her finger and then reforms. The sea does the same.

"It'll die when the magic fades from the land...which won't happen if I can help it," he adds and she smiles.

"That sounds like the Merlin I know. So you'll be able to see who is coming?"

"To a degree. I wasn't joking about making a bigger map," Merlin lays down beside her and she turns to him with a smile and cocked eyebrow.

"It doesn't seem fair that you get to keep this and probably a bigger one at some point."

"Well you can make one of your very own," he kisses her cheek and she looks down, feeling warm. "I warn you, it can be quite addictive."

"I never took you for a voyeur," she smiles teasingly at him and he brushes his lips against her shoulder.

"Only out of necessity...I don't look at anyone but you," he adds softly and she has to look away. Since meeting Urien at Samhain she has spent some time in his company. She reasons it as getting to know the father of the children in her care. He has been blunt about his interest in her and given the chance he would make her his queen but no throne can take her away from her duty.

"You have nothing to be jealous of Merlin. I don't have time to waste on men."

"Then what is this?"

"A breath, time between the seconds," she says and means it before she smirks at him. "And I'm not sure you're even human so I suppose you're an exception."

"I'm flattered."

"You should be," she kisses him hard before straddling him. Hands on his chest, which is pleasingly broad, she starts to very gently gyrate and he grips her hips.

"I like your castle."

"Thank you. I grew up here but I hadn't been back in years. I feel...at home here. What about you?"

"I actually took your advice. I found a heavily wooded place, not far from here and that's where I live...when I'm not with my mother. It's called Dinas Emrys."

Morgana grins. "How fitting. I suppose you're just reclaiming what is yours."

"You don't really believe those tales do you? I'm not immortal, I was born and I'll die."

"I think we've been here before and we'll return after death. So I know that I'll see the people I've lost again," she stares up at the wall, which is cast with half shadows shaped like birds through the carved screen before the fire. Before she can let the sadness take her those shadow birds start to flap and then all at once they take flight. "Merlin!"

"I used to do this as a child, when the shadows frightened me," he answers as the birds fly from one wall to another, swooping up to the arched ceiling above and back down. A murmuration. Morgana smiles, meeting his gaze and touches his face.

"There's a little girl afraid of the dark who I think would appreciate your trick," as she says it the image of a wild haired little girl standing fearless above the sea of Meredor settles in her mind and she feels a strong throb of longing. She stares down at Merlin, who smiles softly and she circles her thumb against the coin lying against his chest, strung on a black cord. It is much smaller now. She could erase all traces of their coupling, which is what she had considered but now, with her eyes fixed on his, she slowly sinks down on him and the shadow birds take wing again, making the room a shifting kaleidoscope of light and dark...

* * *

The vision is abrupt and startling in it's detail and a part of her knows it is because of the magic she and Merlin had just shared. Standing in the corner of the room she has just fallen asleep in she watches as an older version of herself turns from the window as someone walks into the room.

"You shouldn't be here, you agreed."

At first Morgana thinks she has been seen but the man who walks in answers. Morgana's stomach drops when she sees Merlin. He is a little older and the beard seems to be a permanent feature. He strides in, tall and self possessed.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important and seeing as you won't answer me here I am."

"I know what you're here to say so I'll save you the trouble and give you my answer: I don't believe you."

Merlin stops before her, his face thunderous. "He's a traitor! He always has been but you won't see, you don't want to."

"I see fine. I see your jealousy and pride and it's twisting suspicion into fact," she answers, angry but she quickly reins it in. Her gaze softens. "Please, just let this go. After everything we've been through, all the battles and successes, you have to trust me."

"It's not you I don't trust," he whispers and lifts a hand as if to caress her face but he tightens it into a fist instead. "If you won't listen to me I'll have to make you."

"Haven't you learned? Pushing me never works."

They stare at each other, the air chill and before either can move a small shape skips into the room.

"Uncle says that he'll wear one of your dresses before he tries tripe. I've come to pick one out for him mummy. Auntie Gwen says blue, to bring out his eyes," the girl, now seven or eight pauses when she sees the two adults squaring off.

"Come here," Morgana says and the girl runs into her arms. At the sight of the child Merlin has grown tense but at the sight of her face he exhales.

"Hello Vivian."

Morgana, who stands observing this vision from the corner of the room, feels her heart swell at the sound of the girl's name. She is named after Morgana's mother, her grandmother.

"Hello...you're the court magician," she says politely, looking a little awed and Merlin nods. He looks like someone has plunged a sword into his chest.

"That's right," he has trouble speaking and he swallows convulsively. His eyes are two burning blue fires, filled with love and desperation. Morgana, who holds Vivian, gives him a warning look over the girl's head and Merlin steps back. Whatever is going on the two seem to have an arrangement, though not a happy one.

"I'm going to the isles this year. I'm eight," Vivian says proudly and Merlin smiles. Morgana shakes her head.

"We've talked about this Viv. Your studies will be here."

The little girl slumps, looking disappointed and Merlin smiles gently. He strains forward, as if he wants to take the girl in his arms. Instead he looks down and with a puff of smoke a velvet dress appears.

"Gwen is right, blue it the king's colour."

Vivian laughs and takes the dress from him. They watch her run from the room, shouting for Arthur as she tries not to trip over the hem. Matching expressions of tender bemusement turn to each other before it fades. Merlin's gaze becomes hard.

"If you won't do it for yourself than consider it for her sake...because if you don't then I will," the words are a threat and Morgana's eyes blaze. The two magicians step back from each other and the air becomes electric, magic waiting to be unleashed.

Morgana, still standing in the corner, holds out a hand, shouts at them to stop but as a flash of light blinds her she throws a hand over her eyes and with a gasp she bolts awake. Merlin turns sharply, morning light shining through the gap in the bed drapes he has pushed aside. He smiles down at her.

"Good morning. Time to finish the beacon."

* * *

Since dressing and eating breakfast she has been unable to get the vision out of her mind and it has obscured the blissful night before. The child is theirs, she is sure but the girl, Vivian, does not know who her father is. Why? What happens to them? She wants to dream again, dream until it all makes sense.

They make their way outside, the snow up to their shins and the mist swirls as thickly as before. She watches as Merlin walks ahead, talking to Galahad. Behind her Kara and Mordred follow. The twins are still asleep.

"You carry it with you everywhere? It seems a heavy burden...I'm sorry," Merlin says to Galahad, who has the box slung over his back.

"It's not your fault Merlin. You didn't pick me, it was...divine ordinance," the knight in white says and Kara scoffs loudly behind them. They stop at the cliff edge, where Merlin has planted the stone marker.

"You're probably the most noble person I've ever met. I wish you could have met Lancelot, you remind me of him."

"I would have liked to. I just want to do the right thing," he says, shifting the box containing the cup against his hip.

"Still, it's a burden you carry."

"...I suppose all precious things are," Galahad answers and his gaze lingers on Kara before looking way. The snide look on her face is wiped away and she blinks oddly into the mist. Morgana hugs herself, cold despite Aithusa being so close.

Merlin frowns. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Do you need help?"

He stares at her, not convinced but he nods without prodding her for more. When he turns away she exhales. She does not know how to act around him. They follow him to a stone embedded in the earth, the only thing that the mist does not shroud.

"I need you to etch this rune into the stone as I read aloud the spell," he draws a rune into the snow, which she recognises as an ancient name for the kingdom they stand in. Morgana leans down, the light weak despite the sun trying to break through the mist. She stares up at Merlin and when he nods she begins carving slowly, working at the speed of his speaking pace. Mordred leads Aithusa closer and as Merlin reaches the end of the spell Merlin nods at the dragon.

Flames roars from her mouth, catching the oil in the golden bowl placed on top of the stone. Fire leaps up and the mist begins to retreat at once, spooling around them tighter and tighter until the mist circles the stone marker slowly.

Traces of fog still linger but the sky is clear. As the thing that has been concealing them for a day gradually disappears Morgana realises too late how foolish they have been.

"Merlin!" she screams, throwing out a hand but the silent witches lining the cliff edge, their cloaks flapping in the breeze, strike before anyone can react. Merlin and Morgana are blasted off their feet and land in a painful heap together.

"Who are they?" he groans, flipping over to stare at the women approaching them. Thirteen.

"Saxons, the witches who work with the Saxons!"

They jump to their feet, snow clinging to their cloaks and stand shoulder to shoulder. The first witch who reaches them is flung twenty feet through the air and over the cliff edge, her face a picture of deep surprise before she is lost to sight. Morgana thinks they did not expect a fight when she looks towards the rune marker.

"Galahad," she breathes and realises that the witches are not there for them. "They want the cup!"

The witches crowd the man in white, who almost blends in with the snow. Mordred and Kara defend him, each with a sword drawn but the sorcerers hit them again and again with magic. Mordred falls to a knee, trying to shield them and he clenches his teeth with the effort.

"Aithusa!" Merlin yells, running to their friends and the dragon swoops down and the women gathered look up in awe at the beast trying to set them on fire. Dread fills Morgana's heart. Aithusa can not use fire without harming Galahad, Mordred and Kara.

Morgana barks a curse at the nearest witch, who crumples to the ground. Merlin inhales then a booming voice comes deep from within his chest. Aithusa snaps her head to him as he roars in a language that Morgana does not understand and the dragon swoops down. The witches shield their faces, expecting more flames but the dragon plucks one up into the air and with a screech drops her into the frozen sea.

"Yes!" Morgana yells and runs towards the shrinking group but as she almost reaches Mordred the air _ripples_ and she freezes involuntarily. The air shimmers and boils before a gap splits into the air and widens. Open mouthed she watches as the gap lengthens, growing bigger until a doorway stands before them and through the gap she sees another land.

"We have to stop them!" Kara yells as Galahad, beaten half unconscious, is pulled struggling through the gap, pulled by a force that none can see and not hesitating for a second the druid girls races through the doorway after him. Wild eyed and scared Morgana fights to get closer, shouting the monk's name when she looks through the doorway again. Sister Birgit smiles calmly at her, sunshine bathing her smooth face. She lifts a hand and beckons her.

Morgana's legs grow weak and she grabs Merlin, who is shouting commands at the dragon, who is now fighting off the combined power of the witches. They have Galahad, who they tore through reality to get, and soon the witches limp back through the portal, escaping the wrath of the dragon.

"We need help!" Merlin yells, pulling her up but she can hardly hear. The little sister smiles maternally as Galahad is dumped at her feet and even as the guards behind her lift their arrows Morgana does not move. Merlin shakes her, moving to stand before her and Morgana snaps out of it.

"Watch out!" she yell and Merlin turns in time to see the arrows flying toward them. He pushes her roughly down as she flings out her arm to divert the arrows. She falls into the snow, waiting for the pain to shot through her but none come. Her magic had deflected the arrows. She lifts her head and sees Merlin falling to his knees, back to her.

"...Merlin?" she breathes, frozen in shock but as he makes an odd gulping laugh she gets to her knees and pulls him back. He has been shot in the chest.

"Missed one," he wheezes, blood staining the white snow red. He collapses into her arms.

"No! This - this isn't meant to happen!" she denies and places a hand on his chest but before she can heal him she is grabbed and roughly pulled back. So fast she barely feels it she is tugged through the portal, the heat enveloping her at once but all she can hear and see is Merlin. She holds out her hands.

"...Bring the wizard," a soft voice says and one of the witches stands over Merlin, who even bleeding to death snarls up at her. The witch leans down and instead of using magic she knocks him out with the end of her short sword. She brings Merlin back through the portal, dragging him by an arm and then drops him beside Morgana. She gathers him up in her arms.

"Morgana," a voice cries and she looks up in time to see Aithusa flying towards the portal, her mouth filled with fire.

"Find Arthur," she begs as the portal shrinks, growing smaller and at the last moment the dragon flies upwards as the portal closes shut. Aithusa and Tintagel are gone.

And she is right back where she started. Merlin lies still in her arms, bleeding heavily. Mordred is on his knees, hand on Kara's arm who is knocked out. Galahad looks at the people around him in bewilderment but Morgana only has eyes for one person. Sister Birgit stands before her and then tilts her head with a smile.

"Welcome home, Morgana. I have missed you."

* * *

**_a.n:_**

_The end...for now. _

_Thank you so much for all your support and patience! It's meant a lot and I hope that you'll enjoy what is to come (which will likely be in December.) _

_Thanks again!_


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